There are days when I feel like what’s going on in my heart is hidden, even from me. On those days my heart tugs like a toddler on a skirt until I surrender – usually after I’ve tried everything else. Fitful and flabbergasted, I cry out to the Maker of my heart. Everything I don’t understand about her, God is privy to.
My expectations are almost always inaccurate predictors of God’s brilliant goodness that’s constantly rushing my way. He’s always tripping my feet with his better roads, and I never stop being shocked by that. I hate to say I’m always wrong – I mean, who wants to admit that? But what I’m facing here is that when I measure the life I expect against the life God has to reveal himself in, I underestimate his intentions consistently.
OK, I’m saying it. I’m always wrong.
It turns out there are things he wants us to know. Now that I can see (with the eyes of my heart open) that he is particularly interested in telling me some of those things as soon as I ask, I am less apt to rush my Amen.
Why would I do that – skip ahead to put a period where God invites a “…” ? Let me count the reasons.
I find it incredibly beautiful when my eyes fall on a paragraph that has not been announced as a prayer, but is one, and I am scooped up into it. Maybe there’s italics or a paragraph indent, so it’s not totally out of the blue. Still. Ho ho hold the phone, my soul says, this is prayer.