our invitation to rest

Father, we come . . .

with emotions based on our circumstances;
because that's how we are, circumstantial in nature.

we base our happiness on whether we're well fed,
or on the shape of our body from all we've put into it . . .

what happens to us in terms of attention or affirmation,
or if we've gotten to our rightful place in the line . . .

our happy hinges upon what they've said to us or how they've treated us,
or by how much affection they give us on any particular day . . .

if the coupons have expired,
or if our bread is hard to chew on a given day . . .

whether our hugs feel bulges,
or if we feel like we're coming apart at the seams . . .

our happiness hangs on these things,
and yet it seems so silly when we speak of them this way.

we tell our kiddos about You with excited bravado,
and their questions make us stutter and feel so ill-equipped for the task.

You don't make full and complete sense to us;
we can't rationalize or fully articulate the importance of what You have done.

we strive for perfect in ways we don't even see;
it makes sense to that perfection comes in many different colors.

if only we saw all your human-beings this way:
simply perfect in all our many different colors.

we long for full and complete joy that lacks absolutely nothing.
and here we are, making it out to be all happy-clappy.

You redeem all things in time,
yet we still try to make things happen in our preferred time.

we forget about Your invitation for us to rest,
distracted by our moment-by-moment experience and the flavor of the day.

there are a hundred million things we could apologize for about our ways;
yet, we don't have to own every bit of our wretchedness.

we can sit on our porch and embrace our cup, knowing:
we are loved, as we are.

might our feelings not dictate our deeds today, Father,
and tomorrow may we still be the same in the loosing of how we feel.

may we rest in knowing that though our conditions are certainly not ideal,
there's something remarkably perfect and Holy about where we are now.

You are guiding us and gilding us through so many different processes;
we're not just parcel-gilted, You plate us with gold in full.

our ashes will be resurrected as things of beauty;
help us rest in the perfect and purposed ways in which we will rise.

remind us that there's hope, even in the heat of the crucible,
even in the rubble that whispers of things lost.

relieve us of our ever constant clawing for comfort, Father;
silence what the lines on our faces and our shadows want to tell us.

redirect our thoughts and re-pattern our ways;
slow us and remind us of our invitation to simply rest.

amen.

hope resurrected

Father, we come . . .

with our doubt.
with our wanting to believe in full.

with our pride.
with our wanting to cease our foolish striving.

with our judgments.
with our wanting to be more accepting.

with our restlessness.
with our wanting to experience real life miracles.

with our questions.
with our wanting to know all things are purposed.

with our compulsions.
with our wanting to learn from past mistakes.

with our accusations.

with our wanting to quiet the noise that condemns.

with our brokenness.
with our wanting to know messy is actually Holy.

with our exhaustion.
with our wanting to be freed from all that binds.

with our willingness.
with our wanting to abide in peace, as we are.

with our hope.
with our wanting to rest in its smallness.

amen.

the breaking of us

Father, we come . . .

with repentant hearts.


we've not been submissive.

to authority . . .
to assignments.


we've not been accountable.

to tasks . . .
to teaching.


we've made excuses.

to responsibility . . .
to reliability.


we've assumed the victim.

to avoid . . .
to accuse.


we've been wayward.

to rebel . . .
to resist.


we've been restless.

to surrender . . .
to submit.

we've seen our need for You.

to rebuke . . . 

to restore.

we've decided to obey.

to serve . . .
to sacrifice.


we've chosen death.

to whines . . .
to wants.

we've come. 

to work . . . 

to worship.

we've said "yes".

to breaking . . .
to building.


amen.

the bending of us

Father, we come . . .

all lookatmeish.

we're afraid to look at them or You.
we're afraid to look at anyone.

what will they think? 
what will You think? 

we're self-centered in so many ways.

You asked us to feed and to clothe them.
You asked us to love.

but, they hurt me. 
but, they have . . . 

we're selfish and irresponsible.
we're wasteful with time.

we've made so much about us.

You asked us to see them as ourselves.
You asked us to forgive.

what if they do it again?
what if they misunderstand? 

we're such arrogant victims.
we're such accusers.

we've held back our hearts in rationalized self-defense.

You asked us to serve them.
You asked us to sacrifice.

but, look what they've done!
but, look who they are!

we keep them bound like prisoners.
we keep them in shackles.

we think they deserve to be punished.

You remind us they're human and know not what they do.
You remind us that we're human, too.

okay, we'll extend an invitation to them. 
okay, we'll engage with them.

we're all the same: in need of love.
we're all the same: in need of grace.

we're willing to open our eyes and see.

You shift our perspective.
You shift us to penance.

thank You for this sight. 
thank You for this right.

we can see their need.
we can see ours, too.

we're finally free.

You've given us the fullness of grace.
You've given us the fullness of peace.

we'll feed them. 
we'll serve them. 

we're willing to share You with them.
we're willing to shelter them.

we offer our raw, real selves as a sacrifice.

You'll strengthen us.
You'll sustain us.

amen.

linking with friend's at Bonnie's place today.

the perfecting of us

Father, we come . . .

weary slaves to our desires.
our burden is our lack of patience.

You remind us that we have the power to live free.

we do whatever we think we can to feel better.
our pride makes a fool of us.

You remind us that this life is about persevering.

we are inept to contain even our weariness.
our character is shaped by our disappointments.

You remind us that our hope comes in the breaking of us.

wounded soldiers we press on.
our gratitude is for the process.

You remind us this is the perfecting of us.

amen.

linking with Jennifer, Emily, and Holley today.

may we not be distracted

Father, we come . . .

with hearts once so full of hope,
and now nearly emptied.

You tell us to pursue hope;
to chase after it.

but we feel deflated
from all that has distracted us.

our eyes were so fixed on
what we saw before us.

we thought there was evidence our
hope was going to be fulfilled.

it felt like maybe,
just maybe our hope would be realized.

we allowed ourselves to feel excitement,
though we were afraid that maybe it wasn't time.

the journey has been long
and we've sought to honor You.

we had chosen to accept
Your perfect timing.

and then the signs seemed to say,
now might be the time.

but now isn't the time,
and we still wait.

we need You to keep us patient.

may we not be distracted
by what tickles our senses.

You bring good things
in due time.

widen our capacity to trust.

and continue to grow our faith,
as we wait.

help us to stay so close
to You.

amen.

convert us

Father, we come . . .

lead us through the fog.
lead us through the fire.

You expand our capacity to trust.

be our destination.
be our determination.

You really do matter most.

refocus our feelings.
refocus our failings.

You are the center of everything.

remind us.
restore us.

You are more than what we want.

dissolve our loneliness.
dissolve our lack.

You conceived us and grow us.

awaken us to Your stretching.
awaken us to Your shaping.

You designed us.

might we know Your purpose.
might we know Your peace.

You redeem every part of us.

might we remember our sacrifice is planned.
might we remember our sanctity is pursued.

You make Holy of us.

churn us.
crucify us.

You make more out of us.

make beauty from our fears.
make beauty from our failings.

You know our struggle for control.

break us.
bend us.

You desire more than what we can even imagine.

might we have perfect surrender.
might we have perfect solace.

You allow us to wait so our faith can expand.

keep us waiting.
keep us wondering.

You make us dependent.

spin us.
sputter us.

You purpose us.

convert our energy.

convert our efforts.

You make something of us.

slow us.
steady us.

You are the power in us.

alleluia.
amen.

resting in us, as we are

Father, we come . . .

wanting a break from ourselves.
wanting a break from others.

You tell us we have a place in this day.

we are enough for ourselves.
we are enough for them.

You tell us we are enough, as we are.

might we rest in our messiness.
might we rest in our mucked-up-ness.

You tell us we are perfect enough for today.

quiet the chatter for us to rest.
quiet the chatter for us to trust.

amen.

growing in our trust

Father, we come . . .

You have given us merely a glimpse of perfect peace and trust.

     we think we've seen fully.
     we think we know fully.

You've helped us to trust You more than ever before.

     we've come so far from where we've been.
     we're happy and grateful for this place where we are now.

You've given us an overwhelming amount of joy.

     we want everyone to know how we got here.
     we want everyone to experience this peace.

You tell us that not everything needs to be spoken of our story, though.

     our story is our story.
     our lessons are our lessons.

You tell us that You will appoint a time and a way to use what we've learned for them.

     it could be that our story is just meant for us.
     it could be that what we know and see might not be meant for them.

You tell us just because we've learned so much doesn't mean we have to teach them.

     their needs aren't for us to figure out.
     their needs aren't our responsibility to fill.

You give us a unique role and we don't even know what it is.

     teach us what our part is, Father.
     teach us where You begin and where we end.

You've used our storytelling to help people to see You.

     we've become addicted to how You move for them.
     we've become addicted to telling how good You are.

You are the Bread.

     we've tried to give them what we think they need. 

     we've tried to give them what only know they need. 

You discipline us to be quiet and wise warriors who wait. 

     we struggle to let our stories sit still. 

     we struggle to let You move as You will.

You discipline us to teach with love and less words.

     we've become blabbers to some.
     we've become gong-like to some.

You show us how we need You to help us rest.

     might we not feel the compulsion to fix them.
     might we let them be as they are.

You are teaching them just as much as You're teaching us. 

     might we let them learn at the perfect timing meant for them. 

     might we let ourselves trust You for all of us.

amen.

the struggle to hope

Father, we come . . . 

You know we don't want to, though.

     a part of us wants to sit in our bed all the livelong day. 

     a part of us wants the covers more than we want You today. 

You know we're mad at You and we struggle to admit it. 

     we ought not to be upset at You. 

     we should trust You. 

You know we're a complicated mess. 

     our hormones do this to us. 

     our humanity does this to us. 

You know we want to shut everyone out.

     we want to lie and say we're fine.

     we want to lie and say we're okay. 

You tell us that our best selves are our real selves. 

     we don't want to let ourselves be messy. 

     we don't want to let ourselves be mucked-up. 

You make us warriors who don't need to hide who we are. 

     we feel a compulsion to put on a certain kind of armor for them. 

     we feel a compulsion to put on a certain kind of armor for You. 

You know we expect a lot of ourselves. 

     we think we see fully. 

     we forget we only see in part. 

You know our fears. 

     we're afraid of going backward. 

     we're afraid we'll forget what we've learned. 

You've given us peace, but only in part. 

     we think it's in full.

     we think it's in whole. 

You've brought us to a glorious place and remind us that this isn't the end.  

  

     we're still human. 

     we're still mess up. 

You've done a remarkable thing in us. 

     we idolize this mere semblance of goodness in us. 

     we idolize this mere semblance of grace in us. 

You show us how it's our feelings we've idolized more than You.

     we've clinched hard to this peace. 

     we've clinched hard to this hope. 

You strengthen us to persevere even when our feelings change. 

     we struggle to trust.

     we struggle to obey.

You discipline us to hope, even when we fear we could be wrong.

     we think we can know everything. 

     we think we can control everything. 

You love us as the messy creatures we are. 

     we forget our hope won't be perfected in this world.

     we forget our self won't be perfected this side of Heaven.

You know we're disappointed and sad. 

     we expected something. 

     we expected certainty. 

You never said we'd have comfort, though. 

     we're angry because we wanted that. 

     we're sad because we wanted that.

You never said we'd have certainty, either. 

     we hope with stilted confidence. 

     we hope with steady fear. 

You know our tendency to shut You out. 

     we stepped and hoped and we're disappointed again.

     we stepped and obeyed and we're distracted again. 

You help us to trust You and come, as our raw-real selves. 

     we need You to help us to accept Your will and trust.

     we need You to help us to hold onto our cup and hope.

amen. 

being a warrior

Father, we come . . .

reminded of Your words to:
pursue hope.

it hasn't been beautiful like we thought it'd be.
it's been a journey and so different than we imagined.

there wasn't a cascade of ribbons or pretty puffs of colorful clouds.
we didn't feel particularly better.

it was a journey we faced with uncertainty and trepidation.
being people who habitually pine for control, it seemed so impractical and stupid.

hope seems so crazy.
ridiculous and foolish.

we hear people say that process matters.
that the journey is almost more important than the arriving.

yet, it was a road we didn't know and that we weren't prepared for.
the view was unfamiliar and daunting in its length.

there weren't any signs of water or bread.
and even if there were, we would have to be careful.

the water could be tainted.
and some of us are allergic to wheat, anyway.

the road was threatening.
and we are natural defenders.

so it seemed smarter to pull out whatever weapon we could.
even to hide and take cover.

we were aware of the risks to our safety.
aware of how vulnerable hope leaves us.

we were in need but we didn't know of what.
so we grabbed anything that made us feel comfortable.

You allowed us to be in want.
You allowed us to sojourn in places that were idyllic in nature.

but we learned happiness isn't everything.
it leaves us feeling hollow.

You taught us there is joy in trudging through the mire.
experiencing grit again and again eventually makes us expert-like.

the fight trains us.
it specializes us in stick-with-it-ness.

we've wrangled and wagered.
and we've wandered and waited.

we've spun ourselves in circles and made a mess out of ourselves.
our tongue has even gotten all knotted up like the yarn we try to knit.

it's not fun doing this pursuing hope thing.
it's hard.

You use the battle to teach us who we are, though: beloved Warriors.
a Holy title.

You teach us that life isn't actually about what we'd been thinking all this time.
You tell us that living grows us stronger and that matters more than growing bigger.

we learn that maturing in strength is being mindful of our place.
it's listening and abiding.

we've thought it's about raising our hand first or being the expert.
and You've taught us that it's really about being a wise listener.

You teach us that being a warrior is about being wise.
it's choosing a soft voice and calling that success.

it's persevering.
it's praying.

You teach us that being a warrior is about loosening our grip.
and loosing our dreams.

it's about loosing them and their fears.
and ours, too.

You teach us that being a warrior is being ourselves.
a Holy honor of service and a blessed offering to You.

might we encourage others through their sojourning.
bolsterers of courage, might we be.

warriors who wait.
warriors who walk.

boldly.
bravely.

fear-laced, yes.
but the kind of people who step anyway.

might we be warriors who work with our fear.
who give thanks for it.

might we know that even this brings us to You.
no matter who, what, when, where, why, or how . . .

might we warrior on.
amen.

teach us to rest

Father, we come . . .

with few words today.
we come wanting to just sit under Your shade.

we feel tired from engaging with the world this week.
plain ol' tired from life.

the week felt heavy six hours into Monday.
and it feels heavier yet on Thursday.

our fingers feel arthritic and we wonder why.
maybe we've been gripping things that we can't even see.

sometimes this happens, where everything just feels a bit too much.
even all the dreaming and the hoping.

perhaps it's time to unplug for a bit.
it might even be time for a vacation.

it's not like we're hungover from trying too hard last week.
but maybe it's just what happens when two weeks collide.

or maybe it's the collision of two seasons that we're recovering from.
it could even be all the remarkable joy we've experienced of late.

living blind for so long and then suddenly having sight can be overwhelming.
it's a lot to take in to see life and You so differently.

we're learning who we are and You're disciplining us to be ourselves.
yet, old habits are still a part of us, and maybe it's this in between that's so tiring.

we aren't being too expectant and demanding of ourselves and of You anymore.
not like we used to be, anyway.

still, we're restless and sometimes even just hope is the reason why.
the wondering and faith-living can be hard to cope with in this kind of world.

trying to ignore all the noise and distractions might be why we're so tired.
deliberately focusing on You is a challenge in this place, You know.

You tell us we can rest, even in the chaos.
even in the middle of our day that feels like a noisy open air market, we can rest.

we can just sit right in the middle of it all, if we want.
we can hold up one finger and tell everyone else they can just wait.

it's time for this.
we agree that it's time to rest right here, right now.

so, hold us under Your canopy.
cool us from the heat of the day.

might we feel the warm breeze and hear the little creatures speak.
might peace be what feeds us today, not all the affirmation of others.

let it not be checkboxes that make us happy.
and not the feeling of accomplishment at days end.

infuse us with Your strength to keep on in this week.
bolster our courage to press on and let You love through us today.

lead us to the quiet moments You have for us today.
take us into the hidden rooms that we sometimes miss.

show us the spaces You have created for us to breathe.
speak to us there, in those moments made just for us.

nourish and fill us with Your love.
teach us to rest in this day, as it is.

amen.

might we stay, grounded

Father, we come . . .

wanting to believe we're enough.
wanting to believe we're equipped.

yet, we sometimes feel so insignificant.

we're struggling to not compare ourselves with others' giftedness.
we're struggling to not compare ourselves with others' grittiness.

yet, we sometimes feel so isolated.

shame tells us that we don't have a meaningful part to play.
shame tells us that we don't have a mature part to play.

yet, we sometimes feel so idolized.

some people look at us with awe.
some people look at us with admiration.

yet, we sometimes feel so ill-equipped.

our struggles remain and what we say and do seems hypocritical.
our struggles remain and what we say and do seems heretical.

yet, we sometimes feel so idealized.

keep us grounded from the opinions of others.
keep us grounded from the opinions of ourselves.

amen.

Linking with Jennifer today. 

And praying for us all to release our Love Idols. 

might we give more

Father, we come . . .

wanting laughter.
wanting happiness.
wanting love.

we look in all the wrong places.
we look in the mirror and at the mirage we've made our relationships out to be.
we look in all their crevices for hidden nuggets of gold.

all that wanting we have is in vein.
all that wanting we have is in pride.
all that wanting we have is in conceit.

we complain and make a big deal out of all the tiny little things that you say don't matter.
we complain and mock all the seemingly insignificant things that you say actually are a big deal.
we complain and miss how you specifically placed them in our lives, on purpose and for purpose.

a song tells us everything we want to be told, though we struggle to believe.
a song tells us that all of our curves and all of our edges are loved.
a song tells us even our imperfections are perfect.

it's You who says we're more than just loud, clunky tin.
it's You who reminds us that all that glitters is not gold.
it's You who refines us through the fire.

we want to be held.
we want to be treasured.
we want to be accepted.

might we give them more credit for loving us.

might we give more in spite of their lack, and ours. 

might we give more . . . even as we doubt, fear, and wrestle.

amen.


P.S. might we receive the words of this song as Your gift to us.

might we not judge

Father, we come . . .

wanting to feel less frazzled.
wanting the end of our ropes to feel less fried at the end.

we come hungry for purpose.
we come famished from what our distractions have done to us.

it's not obvious to us how the simple parts of our days matter.
it's not obvious how the clutter has clouded our judgment.

there is work to be done and the piles seem to grow exponentially through the night.
there is work to be done and we're all sweaty-hands with fear that we'll never get it all done.

the start of a new week births familiar panic and the pressure in our veins is high.
the start of a new week feels a bit like a pot about to have its lid fling off.

we make our lists and steel ourselves for what the calendar already reveals about this week.
we make our lists and call ourselves prepared by creating expectations and assumptions.

all the while we're so focused on the train whistle that blows loud at the start of the week.
all the while we're so focused on protecting ourselves from its force.

it isn't You who we're most concerned about.
it isn't willingness for whatever that is our first thought.

gratitude for grace isn't what monday's bring to our mind.
gratitude for each moment as it comes isn't our mantra.

might we be accepting of the one step-at-a-time approach.
might we be accepting of how you prepare us for each moment, one at a time.

we judge ourselves based on what we might accomplish in the week.
we judge our week based on how we feel at the end of each day.

might we cease to judge our worth based on how we've responded to the week's whirl. 

might we cease to judge You based on what all happens.

remind us there is hidden purpose beyond what we see.
remind us there are bread-crumbs in each moment that bring us and others to You.

may it be peace that we abide in, not adrenaline or caffeine.
may it be an abiding in You that we seek, no matter what.

amen.

the way of hope

Father, we come . . .

taking in the air deep and long, we breathe into this new day.

the weather forecaster said there might be sunshine today.

just hearing that before we closed our eyes was enough last night.


might yesterday's forecast for today give us courage for this day. 


because, the days have been long lately and we're just not sure we can take another one.

we forget what the arch of our foot looks like.

taking a shower, our finger finds the center of our navel and thinks it odd to find fuzz in there.

our eyebrows need plucking again and those fingernails need trimming again.

we forget what the sound of his breathing means.

it seems white and gray hair has suddenly blossomed and we think, where did that come from?

the feeling of 25 was erased when the doctor gave the stats and said, "it's a number's thing."


     another day . . .

     another meal to figure out . . .

     another dollar to stretch . . .

     another rote routine . . .


The Call that rocked our world has made us afraid of getting another.

we're just not so sure we're in control anymore.

we know we aren't and we haven't been, but still . . .


life just feels even more wildish and devil-like than ever before. 


blame is assigned at every turn in this world and we know it's not all our fault, but maybe it is.

we wonder if maybe we could just be a little more . . .

and yet, it was a whirlwind of a week last week and there was nothing we could do about it.

it's Sunday and the weight of rules feels heavy.

we're supposed to rest today.

yet, all we can think about is how tomorrow begins another week.


could we be like an impish child?

could we live free?


we know it's not supposed to matter how we feel today.

pulling our big-girl panties up means sacrificing our want for Yours.

yet, we just feel so not ready for them today.


     . . . just like we felt yesterday.

     . . . and the day before that.

     . . . and the day before that one, too.


they say it might be sunny.

truthfully, that's the only thing that makes hope possible this day. 


change seems so long and yet everything can change at once.

there's excitement and anxiety in that truth that makes our palms all sweaty.

but it's supposed to be sunny and focusing there makes today a little easier to breathe in.


maybe You'll focus us on the Son.

it'll have to be You, Father, cause our eyes can barely even open.


might this be enough.

might the possibility the forecaster gives for today be enough.

might hope come, even through this.


amen.

might we know love

Father, we come . . .

thinking what we do will earn Your love.
thinking what we do will keep us close.

You tell us it's not about all that we do.
You tell us it's not about all that we think.

might we know that You love us.
might we know this deeply and full.

we think holding it all together is what's important.
we think holding it all together is what teaches grace.

grace isn't about being graceful, as in prim and proper and pretty and perfect.
grace isn't about all that we sometimes make it to be.

teach us to rest.
teach us to trust.

You love us, as we are.
You love them, as they are.

might we simply know.
might we fully know.

amen.

teach us to really love

Father, we come . . .

wanting to love, yet wanting to be comfortable, too.
wanting to give, yet wanting to be filled, too.

You don't need to use us for them.

we forget this and think we have to fill every one of their gaps.
we forget this and think we have to fit every one of their needs.

You remind us we're expecting to be something we can never be.

we are trusted with their pain.
we are trusted with their need.

You call us to be willing to be superheroes who don't flinch in fear.

we've got to get better at accepting.
we've got to get better at allowing.

You ask us to lay down our wanting to feel good.

we get worried about their intonations.
we get worried about their inadequacies.

You accept them, as they are.

we hate what is wrong about them.
we hate what is wrong about us.

You show us it's not about the fixing.

we are broken to see.
we are broken to love.

You free us to be naked and to let them be, too.

we say grace.
we say amen.

the process of real discipline

Father, we come . . .

willing to be disciplined.
willing to be responsible.

we finally see how we need You.
we finally see You as our gentle and loving Father.

so we pray, "You have my permission to refine me." 

willing to be committed.
willing to be attentive.

we finally see all we want.
we finally see You want all of us.

so we pray, "lead me to set down my task when they speak." 

willing to be truthful, their words point out our distraction.
willing to be accountable, their truth-telling still stings.

we finally see how we flitter around to do more than is necessary.
we finally see how we create messes that cause our hurried state.

so we pray, "help me to own what is true and not make excuses."

willing to accept ourselves as we are.
willing to allow our humanity.

we finally see how we aren't any better.
we finally see how we're all broken.

so we pray, "reduce me to love." 

willing to be kind to them.
willing to see as You see.

we finally understand that it's love you want of us.
we finally understand that it's love for ourselves you want first.

so we pray, "i choose kindness." 

willing to be patient with them.
willing to be patient with us.

we finally see how trust is what You desire for us.
we finally see how this is the way to abiding in peace.

so we pray, "thank You for this process of Real discipline."

amen.

it's not about us

Father, we come . . .

wanting to know if we should.
wanting to know if it's Your plan.
wanting to know if we are right.

You slow us to wait.
You slow us to see.
You slow us to hear.

we feel your presence here, in the quiet.
we feel your provision here, in the waiting.
we feel your patience here, in the anxiousness.

You tell us it's not about their obedience.
You tell us it's not about his response.
You tell us it's not about our convictions.

our pride is broken as we see our control.
our pride is broken as we hear our judgments.
our pride is broken as we feel our anger.

You make us new.
You make us brave.
You make us trust.

give us Your peace, even as we wonder.
give us Your Bread, even as we want.
give us Your patience, even as we wait.

. . . because it's all about You, Father . . . only You.

amen.