Our Father

overcast sky

I’m finding myself drawn more and more to prayer.  Prayer for my family. Prayer for friends. Prayer for coworkers. During worship today, I looked around at all the raised hands and I thought, Yes. No more playing church. People all around us are giving up and lying down. People are giving in to depression and mourning long-lost relationships. We have to help them. We need to encourage, to edify and exhort to hope.

I feel like I need to be on my face more because I’ve come to the end of what I can do to help a lot of folks. Painful life events, as Pastor explained this morning, should cause us to turn to God more and more. And if we don’t learn the lesson the first time, you can be sure it will come up again on the next exam, like a song on perpetual repeat. The circumstances and people may change but the concept we need to grasp remains.

Yesterday, I ran 3 miles. This morning I did a short jump rope workout, some stretching and called it good. But this afternoon, instead of praying here at home, I took to the streets. I walked and prayed for 2 miles. The day had been balmy but damp. Dare I say it felt like an early spring? The overcast sky, heading into sunset, had patches glowing blue and gold and peach. Other places frowned, a dark gray.  It seemed unsettled, kinda like all the things I’m wanting to fix. What will the outcome be? Sunny? Showers? Continual, never-ending clouds? Wait and see.

Pastor preached out of Ecclesiastes 3 today. You know the “time for everything” song. I’m entering a season of prayer as things reach a point of desperation. As I moved along, dodging the come-on from the drifter hanging around the picnic bench, I realized that once again I’m back to trust.  Will I trust God to handle these scenarios, about to careen over the proverbial cliff? I breathed in and out and finally surrendered.  Because, in the end, I’m not the only one learning lessons.  The individuals going through the tough times have wisdom to gain as well. As I turned for home, I looked up into traces of blue sky.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s