It was Friday... & i felt foolish.
i'm too full of pride & shame is an easy tool for the enemy to use on me.
i was still in my jammies at 11:47 & i pulled on my sweats and a hoodie and grabbed my keys and headed to the church.
"God - i'm sick of my own words. Teach me to pray..."
This *purposefully* meeting with God is stretching me. To stand on the street corner across from the abortion clinic makes me check and recheck my heart - makes me press in closer to His heart - causes me to reach deeper - to learn how to pray.
The 15 minutes i spend at my church on Fridays are much like this too - sometimes it's an emotional meeting with my Creator that feeds my soul - and sometimes it's all i can do to pleadingly whisper again and again, "meet with me. please, meet with me."
As i pulled into the parking lot - the psalm that kept running through my head was Psalm 121.
1 I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
where does my help come from?
2 My help comes from the LORD,
the Maker of heaven and earth.
3 He will not let your foot slip—
he who watches over you will not slumber;
4 indeed, he who watches over Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.
My parents used to sing the King James version of this psalm together & it's indelibly imprinted on my memory...
& so i prayed that psalm. i sat on the concrete steps of that building - and prayed those first verses again and again... meditating on His goodness. i lay down the struggling marriages that make my heart heavy, lay down the shame that threatens to overpower me, i lay down my sorrow, my heartache, the sickness, death and disease. Gratefully turning my face to where my help comes from
There were no words but those - nothing of my own creation - nothing added... Nothing offered except an echo of these old lines - and a change in my posture...