I was in Texas this past weekend, speaking at a women’s retreat for Collective Church. One of my favorite things in all the world is a room full of women, and this was a truly special group. We laughed. We cried. We ate together. We talked essential oils. We hugged. I imagine heaven will be a lot like this.
By the way, does anyone in Texas have pores? I could not believe the skin on some of these women. Literally airbrushed by God. I came home assured I do not look a day under 57.
Anyway, one of the things the coordinator asked me to talk about was prayer, and she specifically asked me if I’d like to share some of my thoughts on prayer from chapter 5 of Breathing Room, “Borrowing Prayers.”
This was cool because I had never done a talk on that chapter before or on the topic of prayer, for that matter, and so it was timely to speak on Chapter 5 just as I was writing a post for our blog book club here.
Cool intersection of life events.
In many ways, I’m just now starting to “get” prayer or, at least, how prayer works for me. I went through an entire season where I had to unlearn all the ways in which I thought prayer was supposed to happen and function in my life and begin all over again. Now, prayer is much simpler, much more integrated, and much much more honest.
I have had to really practice the idea that prayer is much more about being human than being holy, and I’ve actually come to believe that pretty much all of life is learning to embrace our humanity instead of exude our holy.
This starts with the truth. Our truth. Sitting still long enough to figure out what is actually going on inside us and then sharing that with God. Sitting still long enough to let him love us. Sitting still long enough to listen. Sitting still long enough to _______________________ (I’m sure you could fill in this blank a few dozen times over).
I still believe some of our most endearing and cherished lines of prayer can be borrowed, simple. Like, “Jesus take the wheel,” as I mention in the chapter. Still one of my all time favorites.
If I were to add anything to this chapter, I would add the following: Sit still and listen. Hush. Shhhhhhhhhh. Be still enough to let your soul bubble up from beneath and then offer those soul-contents to God. In their rawest, most naked form. And then ask God if there’s anything he wants to say to you about what you’ve shared with him.
Lighting a candle can help. A faux fur throw is a must (if the AC is on). Coffee is assumed. A pretty journal or a legal pad could be helpful. Set a scene for your soul and then inhabit it. See what happens.
And if this is a literal impossibility in your life right now, then borrow words that seem to resonate until you can sit down and offer your own. Nothing, and I mean nothing, we have to say surprises God or disappoints him. So we might as well be honest.
All of this will help us cut the BS and get to the good stuff: how we’re really feeling, what we really need, what we’re really scared of, what we’re really hoping for.
Otherwise, what exactly is the point? We do not need a relationship with God based on our posturing. He will love us anyway, lavishly, but the pretending will get in the way of us being able to really absorb that love.
Oh, and a word about integration. Prayer is not reserved for a certain time, moment, environment. Prayer can be ceaseless, which has come to really mean something to me. Keeping an ongoing dialogue with God, who is present in my day, present in my moment. “God, I’m anxious. Help me breathe.” “Thank you, God, for this moment.” “I am grateful for your love.” and so on . . . these words offered up in a single moment help me remember he’s with me, loving me, watching me, walking with me.
What has helped you pray?
What is your history with prayer?
What resonates with you from this chapter?
Love and unlearning,
Leeana
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If you’ve missed any of the book club and would like to go back and catch up, here’s a list of the previous posts in this series:
Chapter 1: Confessing to the Trees
