The Chisel

Father, Our Master Craftsman, Our Master Sculptor—

Oh, how we praise you this morning. You are not confined to one title, one definition or one description. You are beyond them all. You are worthy! So worthy to be worshiped. To be followed. To be surrendered to…

This morning, Father, I thank you for friends who pray for us. Who bring us to the throne room and ask for hard, but beautiful things. Oh, I thank you for friends who ask for you to use your tools gently to shape us. To sculpt us. Thank you for friends who know that the moment of uncomfortableness or pain is worth it all to be who you created us to be. I thank you for interceders. Thank you for those who lead, guide and carry us to the throne room of your grace this morning.

Thank you for this friend’s prayer for me this morning:

Lord chisel away at us and bring out the women You know are there hidden in the stoniness of our humanness. Lord thank you that You keep removing even when we bring it back, even when we fall over the same stone again and again. Lord some faults in the marble of our heats run deep but we still desire for them to be removed.

http://itsmelaurab.wordpress.com/2013/06/14/bring-out-the-chisel/

Oh, my God! I agree. I agree with her prayer. We ask this morning for you to bring forth the woman you see etched in the depths of the marble. Only you can sculpt in stone and it always be right. You never remove more than needed. You work around the flaws—the faulted seams that run through us—and anyone else would deem the stone useless. But not you. You are not deterred by cracks or faults. They become the very things that add to the ultimate beauty you bring out in us. These weaknesses become showcases for your beauty.

Thank you, Father. Please help us to not be afraid of your chisel. Help us to not shy away from the cuts it will make. The cuts your chisel makes are washed continuously by the water of your grace and mercy.

Help us to trust the skill of you hand, the compassion of your heart, the sharpness of  your edge and the wisdom of your knowledge.

In Jesus’ name. Amen

 

Let It Rain

Oh Father,

It is raining here—a steady pouring of water. It beat on the roof this morning—a steady rhythm. And this self of mine became attuned to it.

Father, we need rain. It is inconvenient. It is annoying. It is uncomfortable. But we need rain. Rain to replenish what has been depleted by heat and pressure. Rain to rehydrate what is dry and barren. Rain to soften the hard and crusty places in us—the cracks and ruts and ravines.

Father, help us to allow your rain to saturate us. Let us sit like the earth and absorb. Let our soil be moistened to deep places—so that new vegetation might grow. New foliage might emerge and fruit would begin.

Let the fruit begin, Father. Fruit takes time to form and mature and ripen. We ask that you would grow fruit in us…that the result of this rain would be luscious, rich and full fruit. Father, we want the boughs of us to be laden heavy with this fruit of the Spirit. Fruit only you can grow. Only you can grow these in us.

Father, let it rain. Let it rain.

In the name of Jesus.

Amen

 

Tabernacles and Tents

Father,

Oh, that I would meet with you. That you would come to my tent and fellowship with me. This tent is frail and fragile...whether it can hold you I am not convinced.

But you are.

Father, I ask this morning you come and abide in our tents. That we would eat with you and drink with you...that our conversations would be full with light. Father, I ask that you would enlarge our tents. Increase the capacity that we might hold more of you...that you would pull out our tent pegs and set them further out so that square footage of us would be multiplied.

We are tents, Father. You have told us this...and you Son came and tabernacled and tented among and with us.

We are temporary places. We are the tent housing for your Spirit. Father, shake us out. Unfold us. Increase our capacity to hold more.

Father, thank you that you meet us. That by our invitation you will flip back the tent door and enter in and stay with us. Father, clean these tents out. Rid them of the excessive baggage that takes up too much room. We want room made for you.

Father, I praise you. I worship you this morning. Enable me to do so in spirit and in truth.

Stretch this tent. Stretch it, Lord.

Amen

Manifested Glory

Oh my God, my God!

How worthy of praise you are this morning. How worthy of being lifted up and exalted above all else in our lives. Show us how to lift you up so others can see. Enable us to lift you high so everyone sees only you first—that we might decrease and you would increase in visibility.

Father, thank you for manifesting your glory before us. Your glory, your weight and your value, is made apparent if we are willing to see.

Oh, Father! That we, like Isaiah, might see your glory—the train of your Presence as it wends and winds through our lives—shows us the treasures in the folds of this train.

Father, teach us to see your Presence in the green of a blade of grass,

In the swift flying of a bird,

In the ruffle of leaves lifted by the breeze,

From the belly laugh of a child,

In the bend of a bloomed flower,

In the rapid fire movement of a bee’s wings.

Teach us to see your Presence in the mundane things. Teach us to find you. Regardless.

Father, make us aware of your holiness. Allow us to feel the punch of how different you are—an epiphany in the revelation of you.

Father, change our perspective. Change the viewpoint of our observation. Change the angle of our seeing.

In the name of Jesus.

Amen

Hearing Silence

Father,

It’s Monday and I’m hearing silence. I feel like your voice has been on mute for a while now. I can’t hear you and it unnerves me.

I know you have not moved. I know you have not shifted.

So, perhaps that means I have. Have I leaned in the wrong way? Away from the sound of your voice? Have I meandered to the edge of the path and your voice is muted by the foliage and brush between us? Father, I don’t like silence, and yet silence moves me to seek you. To call your name. To look for you. To seek you.

Father, I can’t see you today. I can’t hear you today. But as the sun still shines behind the cloud cover I know you are there.

Please today remove whatever is inhibiting me from hearing. Dig out my ears that I might hear you. Or enable me to interpret the silence, to seek you even more. To be desperate for you. To thirst for you. To hunger for you even more.

Father, I know the silence will not last forever. And I know my parched tongue will taste fresh water. I know the twisting of my hunger will be assuaged, but until then I pray you would help me to be faithful in the silence. Help me to trust what I cannot see—you.

My God, my God! Forgive me. Forgive me. Let your forgiveness roll over me like a river in flood season—overflowing its banks. Whatever hindrances are present I pray for their removal. For walls to be torn down. For barriers to be breached.

Father, please help me to find that sweet spot with you again…that place where your mercy dwells.

Oh, you and your mercy. How beautiful. How good.

Oh, you and your grace. How incredible. How deep.

Oh, you and your forgiveness. How encompassing. How complete.

Oh, you and your holiness. How powerful. How prevailing.

Oh, you and your love. How deep. How wide. How high. How long.

I praise you for it all. Glory to you, Father God! Glory to you. You are good. You are good. And worthy of praise. Worthy of being lifted up. Worthy of adoration. And I thank you. I thank you. I thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Amen

The Cleft and the Storm

Father, in  the quiet darkness this morning I hear the thunder rumbling. Lightning sparks and momentarily lights this dim room. And while the storm brews and simmers I sit in the cleft of the Rock--protected. You are the Rock which is higher than I. The solid rock on which I stand and hide.

Father, how often have you protected me in the granite curtains of your rock? How often have I slipped behind the stone veil and waited until the storm passed?

And this morning I am watching--standing at the cusp and edge and aperture of my safe place.

I'm waiting. Anticipating. I am waiting for the whisper. Attempting to hush myself down to silence--of which I am poorly equipped to do. Only You can hush me. Only you can soothe the distraught child in me.

Yes, I am waiting for the whisper. Father, help me. Help others. Help us to listen for your whisper.

What are you saying to us in the midst of our storms today? What are the words that come to us on the winds?  What revelation of You will be given to us today? Like Elijah? What will we see? What will we hear?

Prepare us. Make us ready. Please.

We want to see your face. Perhaps, all we can see, like Moses, is your back. I want to see you face, Lord. But more than anything I want to be aware that you have passed by.

I want to be aware of your whisper...and I want to hear it not only with my ears, but in my spirit. In the marrow of me. At the center of me. And I ask that just as the thunder rumbles and I can feel in to the core of my body...I pray that your voice would do that in my spirit.

In the name of Jesus whose blood has hidden me in the cleft of the rock,

Amen and amen

The Fourth Day

Oh God,

It's Monday morning. The Monday morning after the celebration of your Son's Resurrection.

I wanted yesterday to extend...for the sun to shine a little longer, for the ease of the day to continue, for the worship of the day to continue to soar. I didn't want yesterday to end.

But it's Monday. And the world has taken off their Easter finery. Slipped it back on a hanger and put it in the closet. The eggs are cracked and spilt. And there are aluminum foil candy wrappers strewn across lawns and living rooms...

But Father, the Resurrection isn't just about one day for us--your people. This is life for us: the fact that your Son not only died for us, but you raised him from the dead. Brought him up out of the dark tomb of spiritual and physical death. And I know he endured both for us...otherwise he would not have had to ask, "My God. My God why have you forsaken me?" from the cross.

Father, today is the day after the Resurrection. It is the fourth day.

Teach us to live on the fourth day. Show us how to live like resurrected people. We are to die to sin and ourselves, yes. But we are to live as people brought back to life. People who have been called out of the tomb, out of the decay and out of the smothering tendrils of death. Father, you have called us to live as children of light. Children of the day. Children of promise.

Father, help us to live out the hope of the Resurrection on the fourth day. On the fifth day. On the sixth.

Amen