My New Year resolutions started out on the back of a bank receipt. A random list of thoughts eventually became goals I wanted to focus on this year. One was prayer. In the rush of life, my prayers seem to have become shortened and stagnant.
I walked into church late on Sunday morning. The music played; I sat in an unfamiliar spot. And I was tired. Life is weighing at times. Lyrics led to preaching and we opened our Bibles to Acts 4. On a screen I saw the words in bold print “How’s your prayer life?” It never fails, God seems to meet me right where I am.
The next day, a snowy forecast made me want to linger under the morning’s warm blankets. The house was still and the floors cold. I reached for my green tattered Living Bible and read about wisdom. I traced my fingers over Proverbs 8, hoping the words seep into my soul. I finished but was reluctant to pray. Why? Maybe it’s because God really knows me. God knows my selfish ambition and my lack of patience and the thoughts of past and present that rumble through my mind.
And the morning rolled on. I fixed breakfast and placed it on the table. Distracted with pouring and stirring, I saw Luke waiting for me. His soft little hands folded, he was waiting for me to pray with him.
And I was quickly reminded through this baby of mine that prayer isn’t meant to be difficult. Its simple words to the one that gives us life and joy and everything we have but don’t deserve. And I bowed my head beside this little boy who is yet to make prayer complicated.