Anita Mathias: Dreaming Beneath the Spires

Anita Mathias's Blog on Faith and Art

1001 Gifts #8–A May Walk around my Garden, and the fields around my house

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Jake, my collie, in the buttercup meadow.
England is traditionally glorious in May—and actually was so today, the hottest day of the year to date
And here are some images from a glorious walk this afternoon through my garden, and little orchard, and around the fields surrounding our house.
I have substituted prayer walking for prayer in a locked room, and am listening to Scripture on my iPhone. I really enjoy prayer on the hoof. Being out in May with the birds singing in happiness, and the fields and trees full of flower and blossom fills my heart with joy, even ecstasy.
I am grateful for the gift of living in the English countryside which is so beautiful, and so rich in history and literary association!
Buttercups with a flowering hawthorn hedge in the background
Looking down at the buttercups
A glimpse of the rape seed field
another view from our balcony
field of rape seed
Tractor tracks left by the farmer when spraying
close up of the rape flowers

Three views of the hawthorn hedge

Queens Anne’s lace by the vegetable garden
Queen Anne’s lace, sticky weed (Galium aparine), and a few bluebells in the woods under the birches
A fallen nest
Columbine under a still dormant mulberry
Judas tree (I think)
Purple asparagus, almost the same color as the soil,  sprouting.
A shady nook with giant solomon’s seal

Blogging: The Greatest Democratisation of Writing the World Has Seen.

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Stoke Poges Churchyard, Buckinghamshire


Thomas Gray who wrote “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard” was an extremely self-critical poet, paralyzed by the fear of failure. Though he had devoted his life to a self-imposed programme of literary study, and was known as one of the most learned men of his generation, he published a mere 13 poems in his lifetime, 1000 lines, which might be mistaken for “the collected works of a flea,” he said sadly.

In the graveyard of Stoke Poges, Buckinghamshire, he ponders the graves of those whose lives were not blighted by ambition–or thwarted ambition.  

But were they any less gifted then the household names of their generation? Statistically, the inhabitants of Stoke Poges should have had the same probability of producing a genius like Milton, a leader like Cromwell as any other town. They did not. Why? Gray muses

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid
Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire;
Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway’d,
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre:

But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page,
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne’er unroll;
Chill Penury repress’d their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.

Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathom’d caves of ocean bear:
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast
The little tyrant of his fields withstood,
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest,
Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country’s blood.

Th’ applause of list’ning senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty o’er a smiling land,
And read their history in a nation’s eyes,
Their lot forbad: 

Far from the madding crowd’s ignoble strife,
Their sober wishes never learn’d to stray;
Along the cool sequester’d vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenour of their way.

He mourns these “mute inglorious Miltons,” “born to blush unseen and waste their sweetness on the desert air.” 

                                              * * *

However, with the explosion of blogging, the gatekeepers are losing their power, and anyone with a winsome voice who speaks to people can eventually find her audience, though she might live far from urban literary hubs. Miltons, particularly female ones, are no longer mute or inglorious!

In fact, “Miltons”, who live far from the madding crowd, find a voice–and an audience. The farmer’s wife Ann Voskamp in rural Canada, mother of six children who finds the sacred in the everyday. Or the nomadic Jessica Bowman, to mention at random, two blogs I enjoyed this week. Sweetness is no longer wasted on the desert air, in Gray’s phrase. It can be shared. And that is good, for sweetness should be shared. 

Blogging is the greatest democratization of writing the world has seen–and probably its greatest explosion of shared knowledge and experience. That’s not to say an audience comes immediately—it still takes time, and application. However, one can gain one’s audience unmediated, based on whether your writing speaks to head, spirit and heart, without needing to convince a gatekeeper.


And that is one of the many reasons I love blogging.

God can’t keep his hands off us when we ask for healing, because that is his nature. It takes faith to receive it, though

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The Light of the World
William Holman Hunt
 Do you remember the story of The Scorpion and the Frog from the dramatic film, “The Crying Game?”
The kidnapped black British soldier tells his softy IRA captor Fergus the story.
“Scorpion wants to cross a river, but he can’t swim. Goes to the frog, who can, and asks for a ride. Frog says, ‘If I give you a ride on my back, you’ll go and sting me.’
Scorpion replies, ‘It would not be in my interest to sting you since as I’ll be on your back we both would drown.’
Frog thinks about this logic for a while and accepts the deal. Takes the scorpion on his back. Braves the waters.
Halfway over feels a burning spear in his side and realizes the scorpion has stung him after all. And as they both sink beneath the waves the frog cries out, ‘Why did you sting me, Mr. Scorpion, for now we both will drown?’
Scorpion replies, ‘I can’t help it, it’s my nature.’”
The story apparently is both an African and a European folktale. It was an epiphanic moment when I watched the film 20 years ago, as I was struggling with a difficult and exploitative person, who continued taking advantage of us. I realized that some people cannot change their behaviour. It is their nature. I was wasting my time being outraged. Accept the way people act as their nature, and adjust your dealings with them accordingly.
Someone who has lied to or about you, gossiped about you, taken advantage of you, or exploited you will very likely do it again. It is their nature. If you continue the friendship because of their other redeeming qualities, be aware that you will be stuck with the restaurant bills, for instance.  And if the villainous one is in your church, smile, but avoid being in a small group, or in situations which require self-revelation with them.  Answer their questions with wariness.
                                                         * * *
And sometimes, conversely, you meet lovely people full of kindness. And here is the kindest of all.  “But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, 45 that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous.” God is good, because that is his nature.”
(And his nature often annoys his followers who ask, “Why do the wicked prosper?” See how Jonah reproaches God for having mercy on Nineveh. “I knew that you are a gracious and compassionate God, slow to anger and abounding in love, a God who relents from sending calamity.”) 
                                                     * * *
I have heard a couple of speakers recently, John Arnott and Patricia Bootsma among them, saying that God would never send us sickness. Sickness comes from the Devil. It is always God’s will to heal. Jesus never refused a direct request for healing. Death made him weep. Smith Wiggleworth, interestingly, believed the same thing.
I have been interested recently in how different people have vast faith for different things. Mueller and Hudson Taylor could raise millions by faith alone. Heidi Baker and Bill Johnson have records of remarkable healings. Isabel Allum who I heard last week started off with a rather tedious account of satnavs, medicine, diamond earrings and power tools found after prayer.
 “The measure—or limits—of our faith is our anointing,” I read today in a fascinating book by R. T. Kendall called “The Anointing.” Those who understand God’s nature of generosity, of provision like a river, experience God’s miracles of provision. Those who understand God’s heart of compassion, how Jesus found it hard to keep his hands off sick people, expect and experience miracles of healing.
Nicky Gumbel asked Rick Warren recently at the Leader’s Conference, “Why do you think God has used you so powerfully?” Rick Warren, “Because I expect him to.”
Faith is like the rainbow bridge between heaven and earth, between God’s power and our need.
Or perhaps we could say faith is the key inside our front door that opens it to the power of the Christ who stands outside and knocks.
I honestly believe that when we ask God to touch us, to heal our emotional wounds, to heal our suffering bodies, he does. It may be seismic, or it may be the start of a process, but he does. He does not keep his hands off us—spirit, mind, soul or body when we ask for healing; he does touch us, though perhaps not in the way we asked him to. But it takes our faith to appreciate this. Ever more is being understood daily about the interaction of the mind and the body (for instance, in neuro-linguistic programming), so obviously our faith, and our positive self-talk has a role in continuing to seize and embrace this healing.
                                         * * *
I had been feeling unwell, and exhausted for the last couple of weeks. And so, as I went on my prayer walk, I prayed for God’s healing hands to reach into my inner being, and touch and heal me. I also prayed that they would reach into my spirit, emotions, mind and memory, and heal what hidden scars, wounds or memories might have contributed to my weight loss battle.
And I sort of felt his hands touch me. It was amazing. I came back feeling well and energized. The two week battle with a cough and exhaustion was over. I was happy.
* * *
Apparently, the phenomenon of healing coming and going is not uncommon. A friend of mine has had chronic neck and back pain (undiagnosed, perhaps SPD) for years which gets better after prayer, and then relapses. What’s going on? Peter sunk once he took his eyes off Jesus, once his faith wavered. I wonder, if–once we take our eyes off Jesus, once our faith wavers, once our horrid negative sick-making self-talk begins—our healing also begins to fade.
I believe Jesus desires vibrant health for us, and I am going to keep my eyes on Jesus, and prioritise my health. It feels a bit self-indulgent, perhaps, but in this season of life, my physical, mental, intellectual, emotional and spiritual health all seem intertwined. My following of Jesus is intimately entwined with his call to make life-style changes to be physically stronger and healthy, and emotionally positive, and full of praise.J
by Sharon George
From Ffald-y-Brenin

Enough: A Magic Word at the Root of Peace

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 John Bogle, founder of the mutual fund, Vanguard, writes in his book, Enough, “not knowing what is enough leads us astray in life leading to the subversion of our character and values.”
He got his title after overhearing a conversation between Kurt Vonnegut and Joseph Heller at a party hosted by a billionaire hedge fund manager. Vonnegut tells Heller that the manager made more money in a day than Heller made over the lifetime of Catch-22. 
Heller quips: “Yes, but I have something he will never have: Enough.”
                                  * * * 
Enough. One rarely meets anyone who has it. And when one does, one is charmed by a merry twinkle in the eye, a sense of peace and freedom.
I suppose we reach “enough” by voluntarily hedging our lives—deciding how much we will work, and not working more than that, deciding how much money is “enough” and reducing our work hours once we reach that point.
                                                      * * *
Financially, my husband and I have reached the point where we are earning “enough” for us, and so are slowing down. We are still expanding our family business (because the laws of business are the same as the law of empires: either expand or contract; gain market share, or lose it) but only very slowly.
Roy was an academic, a professor with a chair in applied mathematics, but life was so busy that he decided he’d had enough. He’s written papers, won prizes, been elected to prestigious things, won numerous grants.
The cruel thing about academic research is that the concept of Enough is foreign to it. There is always more one can do–more papers to read, more papers to write, more connections to make, more stuff in a constantly evolving field to keep up with.
So he could do the same thing for another 20 years, or step off the academic treadmill, and have a slower life with more time for the garden, and the kids, and me, and God. He stepped off, and decided to work part-time in our micro-publishing company.
* * * 
There can be a treadmill in literature too, of course. Ars longa, vita brevis is an aphorism attributed to Horace. Art is long but life is short. It takes a long time out of a short life to learn an art. If one is perfectionistic as a writer or artist, enough will prove to be an illusion. You will never be good enough. There will always be more to read, more to learn, more practice. For years, this perfectionism dogged me, sapping the joy out of writing.
I have found peace as a writer by seeking God about what to read, knowing I won’t have read everything, but trusting him to help me to write the best I can with what I have read.
And in blogging, I’ve made peace with the best writing I can produce in a reasonable time frame. Made peace with “good enough.” One might not create pitch-perfect writing, but will have a lot more fun doing it.
The editor Ted Solotaroff who read and commented on my essays when I was starting out as a writer used to say that success as a writer is an exchange of one level of frustration, anxiety, difficulty and doubt for another. As it is in any career. The once coveted recognition is taken for granted, as one begins to crave the next rung on the ladder, and envy those on it!!
So to learn “enough” we need to take our eyes off the external ladder of success, and back onto the private pleasures of writing.
                                                        * * *

So what does Scripture have to say about when enough is enough?

A few things. I love this proverb. “Do not wear yourself out to become rich. Have the wisdom to show restraint.” Proverbs 23:4.

Jesus cautions, “Be on your guard against all kinds of greed.”

And then there’s Jesus’s wonderful parable of the fool who built bigger barns!! He lives in the future tense. “I will build bigger barns. And then, I will say to myself, take life easy, eat, drink and be merry.

God calls him a fool, because in fact, death overtakes him before he does any of these things. And God interrogates him, “All these things you have stored for yourself, whose then will they be?”

                                 ***

I liked the New Yorker cartoon which shows vulturous relatives gathered as a will is read. The will says simply, “Being of sound mind, I have decided to spend it all now.”

There is something sane and healthy about that, though I would not like to die with my finances quite so neatly balanced. “A good man leaves an inheritance for his children’schildren,” Proverbs 13:22 An inheritance is a sweet and magical thing–goodness one hasn’t earned!!–and to bless your children with it that plays a part in people working for longer than they need to.
                                                        * * *        

For me, the only way to learn the meaning of enough is to surrender my use of time to God—to try to make the most of the gifts he has given me, within the constraints of a balanced life–and to leave the success or failure of my enterprises to him.
                                     
And learning the meaning of enough opens up many things–time for relaxation, time for friends, time for hobbies. Time to simply be.

The concept of enough has a particular piquancy for me because I find it hard to know when enough is enough, whether it is with buying books, or plants for my garden, or laying off the chocolate, or stopping work on something which fascinates me, or placing boundaries, or …. whatever…
                             
Fortunately, for those born restless, like I am, there is a source of Enough.

“Thou hast made us for thyself, Oh Lord, and our hearts are restless until they find their rest in you,” Augustine wrote.

There is rest, there is enough, in Infinity, in God, who has Enough, and Enough and Enough for even the most restless spirit.

And only his infinity can satisfy our infinite spirits.
                                                  * * * 
And ultimately, one can decide one has enough before the voices of fear might say it’s prudent, because of our faith in God who is enough, and has enough. Read this lovely short except from Heidi Baker’s There is always enough.


What Kind of Blog would Jesus have Written?

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A few words Jesus wrote

Well, if Jesus were a blogger, rather than an itinerant preacher, what kind of blog would he have?

1) It would be unique. It’s recorded that people were amazed at his words. No man ever spoke the way this man does (John 7:46).

Oh great. That’s a tall order. And how do I be unique?

By being myself. 

Since no two people see the world in the same way, by being honest, we stumble upon the secret of being original, of being unusual.

Each person is unique, as unique as each snowflake, rose, fingerprint, zebra’s stripes, the iris of an eye, or the dots on a penguin’s chest.

As we grow to utter honesty, we discover in the process–unique blogs.

2) It would be full of grace and truth. 

Full of graciousness, of course, but it would be honest too. Hypocrisy was the trait Jesus most abhorred in the Pharisees, “who did everything to be seen by men” (Matt. 23:5) and honesty was the trait he adored, for instance, in his foot-in-the mouth, speak-first-and-then-think disciples.

3) It would be a blessing.

There would be life in it, living waters, and nourishment–the bread of life.

4) Would Jesus spend time in gaining readers for his blog, or would he proceed on the “If you build it, they will come?” principle?

Both. He sees Philip and Matthew and invites them to follow him. He invites himself to Zaccheus’s house for a meal.

And the real-life friendships which grow out of blogging is one of its great pleasures.

But I get the impression that Jesus went about his Father’s business and drew people to him because there was life in his words. That he would have delivered the Sermon on the Mount if there were five people there, instead of five thousand.

If one invests time in blogging, it is perhaps only sensible and responsible to invest some time in finding readers for one’s blog. And I do far too little of that…

5) Jesus would not embark on or continue a blog without being sure that blogging was his Father’s will for him, what he was called to do.

He said, “I do nothing on my own.” I think he would be continually checking in with his Father on what to write, and how much to write, and how.

6 A blog written by Jesus would be somehow prophetic.

He would listen to his Father until he heard him speak. He would record what he heard.

6 A blog written by Jesus would be varied, like his teaching ministry.

Jesus used parables and sermons, exhortation and admonition. He taught his disciples spiritual lessons from their everyday experiences. He used metaphor and allegory, humour and satire.

He loved pithy aphorisms—oh how he would have loved Twitter—and stories which, twenty centuries later, reveal fresh depths of meaning each time we ponder them.

He loved questions. His favourite answer, in common with many Jewish rabbis was a question, which silenced his questioners.

* * *

I would love my blog to bear some resemblance to the blog a central figure in my spiritual, emotional, and thought-life might have written.

And how do I do that?

Oddly enough, it begins with relaxing. Slowing down.

Spending more time with him–to catch his spirit. To have my soul filled with his bread of life, and with the living waters He said would flow from those who believe in him.

 

In Which He Loves Me, Anyway

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You love me
On a fat day
You love me on a weight loss day.
It’s all the same to you.
You love on a bad hair day
You love me on a pretty day,
You love me just the same.
You love me on an inspired day,
And on a sluggish sleep-in day.
You love me just the same.
You see me when I’m sleeping.
You know when I’m awake
You know if I’ve been bad or good,
And you love me just the same.

Listening to Isabel Allum in London. Chasing the Wild Goose of the Holy Spirit. Part II

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 For most of my adult life, I’ve been guided by this thought of Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Why go to drink from other men’s wells, when you can stay home, and be in touch with the internal ocean.”So I avoid listening to speakers on the importance of reading the Bible, of loving your spouse or kids, or praying, or worshipping, or writing daily, or reading poetry daily—preferring to go off and get on with it.

* * *

But yet, there is a time for learn, and a time to be inspired.

When we lived in Williamsburg, Virginia, I worked before a large picture window facing our backyard. Giant iridescent dragonflies flitted around our pond. Monarch butterflies fluttered in their mating dance. Ruby-throated hummingbirds came to our feeders. There were brilliant cardinals and cheeky blue jays.

And I, nose in book, was often oblivious to this world humming with life and colour. Until I looked up.

* * *

So too, spiritually, I can plod. Not in distress, but not on the heights. Not unhappy, but not filled to overflowing with the joy of the Lord either.

But there is so much more. And when you listen to speakers who have scaled higher altitudes of joy or peace or hearing God’s voice, or experiencing miracles, you feel, “Okay, girl, there’s immensity around you. Keep climbing.” And this great cloud of witnesses spurs you on.

* * *

I am chasing the wild goose of the Holy Spirit, and the best thing about this chase is: I am guaranteed to succeed. On the most sacred promise. If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!” Luke 11:13.

“Everyone can play,” as John Wimber famously said. And everyone who asks for the Spirit receives. It’s a democracy. Like the great democratic marriage feast of the Lamb.

How much of the Holy Spirit will I receive? As much as I am willing to make room by daily repentance. By making time and clearing room. By inviting him to come.

Will everyone who asks receive the same amount? Nope. But that’s more or less okay with me, because I know the King, and I trust him, and know he’s fond of me.

And he will give me as much of the Spirit as I can stand at any given time and as I make room for by repentance, surrender and decluttering my heart and life to make room for him.

* * *

Healthwise, I’d had an awful week or so. A cough. Feeling feverish. Sleeping badly. Exhausted during the day.

So when I saw Isabel Allum was speaking in London, I thought, “Why not go?” I am low-spirited because I am feeling so grotty, and it will be refreshing.

And so I went.

And it was interesting enough.

* * *

A critique of the Toronto Blessing, and the Charismatic Movement is its similarity to magic. I recently chatted to a lovely new committed Christian about how she renounced the occult, including an addiction to fortune-tellers and clairvoyants, which was escalating financial problems, since she was contacting them several times a day, sometimes. Why? I asked. “The hope that something good might happen. The need to know,” she said.

And so, Isabel Allum packed out a hall, because she has a reputation as a prophetess. And what did people hope to hear? Predictions of destiny, greatness, “favour,” “plunder,” becoming famous, receiving the nations as an inheritance?

And I? As I said, I wanted to relax in the presence of God, soak in the things of God. And yes, I wasn’t averse to a prophecy. A confirmation of destiny, though I do have a good idea of what God is planning to do, and is doing in my life. He spoke to me when I was 21, on the day he unleashed my writing gift, out of the blue, and confirmed it last summer. So, I am a bit embarrassed that I wanted a prophetic word, such as was given to me for my daughter Zoe by Patricia Bootsma, but, hey, I did.

By the grace of God, however, I have had very clear direction for the rest of my life, of the path I should take, and now–all I need to do is take it, which is not the easiest thing. Steady step by step, and Paradise Lost gets written, and you reach your Promised Land. A thousand prophecies or none, it would still take obedience. It would still take work. It would still take sacrifice.

* * *

A lot of things Isabel was talking about were I guess “magical.” Stories of lost satnavs, medicines, diamond earrings, tools, appearing. She was like a jazz artist, one riff generating another.

It struck me that we each have faith for different things. For instance, I have faith in God’s financial provision. I pray with faith, and over the years, have experienced many miracles in this realm.

Bill Johnson has faith in God’s “creative miracles”—growing new limbs and new organs. And so he sees that happen. And Isabel magically retrieves lost objects.

I love the rich concept of the Kingdom, a mansion with many rooms. And it means different things to different people. Heidi and Rolland Baker’s concept of the Kingdom is probably closest to Jesus’s—the blind see, the deaf hear, the dead are raised to life, and the good news is preached everywhere.

But there are other aspects of the Kingdom. It is joy. It is peace. It is serenity. It is, as Ann Voskamp paraphrases Paul, being, “worried-full for nothing, thank-full for everything, prayer-full in all things.”

* * *

Isabel talked about a young girl working with her, who went to work in an organic greenhouse, and prayed in tongues all day. And the business boomed, and the plants throve, and the profits rose. The simple act of prayer brought the Kingdom into the greenhouse. I have heard the same stories come out out of Ffald-y-Brenin, once they started praying blessing on neighbouring farms and businesses.

 

And that too is the Kingdom. Praying through your day. Seeing God’s hand in little things (Isabel gives examples of parking spaces, and things being marked down in the grocery store just before you get to that aisle. Seeing it as God’s provision fills our life with joy.) Being thankful. Praying big prayers.

* * *

The medium is often the message. Isabel, a Costa Rican, whose Hispanic accent I often had trouble following, spoke childlikely with a continuous smile. The joy seemed real.

Ah, what prevents me living like that, praying through my day, thanking God for his goodness to me, both evident goodness and goodness I accept by faith? Rejoicing always, praying constantly, in everything giving things. Nothing stops me from trying to live like that! And so I will.

And for that inspiration, I am happy I looked up from my books, and saw a bright ruby-throated hummingbird flutter through an English May; iridescent dragonflies sweep, and monarch butterflies on their prophetic migration.

On “Soaking Prayer”

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Four years ago, I went to the grandly titled “International Leaders School of Ministry,” led by John Arnott of Catch the Fire (the new name of the Toronto Airport Fellowship, famous for the Toronto Blessing.)

They taught us a form of prayer called soaking prayer.

Basically: lie down on the floor, often facedown. The position is important; the physical attitude of surrender makes it easier to arrive at the mental attitude of surrender.

In C. S. Lewis’s The Screwtape Letters, Screwtape advises his nephew Wormwood to get the new convert to scorn the importance of physical position in prayer,  to forget that “they are animals and whatever their bodies do affects their souls.”  We were taught to wriggle and squirm until our bodies were comfortable. A comfortable, relaxed body makes it easier to hear God’s voice.

* * *

And then, once comfortable, relaxed, face down on the floor, we do…basically…nothing!

We listen, we rest, we are conscious of our Father’s love for us. If our thoughts wander like wild falcons, then like a falconer, we gently bring them back. God may speak full of directions or wisdom, or he may not. Our prayer is a matter of abiding, of hanging out, rather than a shopping list of requests and queries.  We are in the Presence, resting in the Presence, and what happens there is up to him, not us.

This is how John Arnott describes it:

Soaking is simply spending time in God’s presence, rather than striving. It’s about resting in His Presence, experiencing Him and choosing to be intimate with Him.   While we base our theology on the Bible, our experiences with God make the truth come alive in our hearts. When we soak, we focus on Him. 

Soaking puts us in a position where we are often more able to hear His voice and receive His love. It is also an opportunity for us to pour out our hearts to Him. It’s about living in and enjoying an on-going relationship with our creator. 

As people have soaked in God’s Presence, they have experienced profound heart changes, marriages have been healed, fears dispelled, depression and sickness have left and their lives have been transformed.

Or “Soaking prayer is a modern form of contemplative prayer … People put themselves in an attitude of stillness, focusing on Jesus and open to the Holy Spirit but with no requests or agenda. The aim is to be still in God’s presence, ‘waste time with Jesus.’ The Toronto church sees soaking prayer as one of the main ways in which they encourage people to be open to the Holy Spirit.”  From “Soaking Prayer” by Roger Harper.

* * *

 It is prayer for contemplatives, right-brain peoples, nascent mystics, a different form of prayer from a more activist model.

For me, it involves lying face down, getting physically comfortable, and just relaxing. Doing nothing.  Just being. Being surrendered in the presence of God. Thirsty ground soaking in invisible waves of slow love and grace and Spirit.  Inviting the Father into my heart, to perform his surgery in his time.

No agenda. Nothing as entrepreneurial as prayer lists for my business, or my children, or my marriage or my blog or writing, or my home or garden. Just face down in worship. Or surrender. Or sometimes emptiness.

It is prayer beyond words. It is waiting.  Speak Lord. Thy servant is listening.

Nothing in the realm of the spirit is quantifiable, of course, but this practice of rested, surrendered prayer has changed me.

* * *

I gained a deeper conviction of God’s love for me. Experienced his love far more deeply. Begun to experience deep healing (intellectually, and creatively, interestingly. I was burnt out when I started.) I became aware of a new boldness, and fearlessness, and disregard for what people think of me.

It’s a place of peace.  When the timer goes, it’s a wrench and sadness. For someone as cerebral as me, it’s a surprise to realize that I have been deeply in the presence of God, though nothing much was said, or done, or ostensibly “happened.”

I just love to hang out with you.

Nothing much is said.

Nothing much is done.

Apparently nothing happened.

Yes, somehow, I am different.