a prayer for perspective

Today, just a prayer, whispered, then fervid and carpet-muffled because that’s where I plant my nose.  I can’t seem to bend low enough to accommodate the feel of Him.  It’s a prayer I need, one I offer often in some garbled, half-torn way. But He knows all the parts, so I don’t have to remember them, and it’s okay if whole paragraphs come out punctuated–ripped open, even—by a weary sigh. I start off gripping the pen too hard, pinning my journal between a coffee cup and my knee.  Anyway.  Maybe it’s a prayer you’re asking today too?

Lord–

I confess that I get duped every single day by how things look to me, by how my body feels, by the enemy’s finger pointing to a list of limitations.  So, this is my prayer for perspective.

You are limitless and I am yours.  All things are possible for you, and you have placed your Spirit within me, that power that raised Jesus from the dead; that presence that searches your thoughts and reveals all truth; that living Source that sweeps out the dusty corners of my heart and transforms me past the boundaries of human nature.  You have bigger dreams for me than everything only temporary.  You love me madly enough to plant yourself within me—Deposit guaranteeing what’s coming; wise wind blowing as it pleases; the rushing life-streams of your voice.

So.  As I look at my schedule today; as I look at our situation—the jagged edges of so many broken facts; as I lift Life and feel its weight; as I stand on the brink of hard-pressed—but not nearly as destroyed as I could be:  Remind me of unseen armies scattered like glittering stars across a hillside.  Remind me of seas parted, of flood-waters moved, of terrifying, wind-swept waves stilled by the same voice I carry around in my soul.  Remind me of a little boy’s lunch multiplied to feed thousands.  Remind me that you have power enough to multiply me to meet the needs of my family, with baskets left over.  Use the memories to obliterate Lies.  Use memories of addictions conquered, of diagnoses reversed; of my once-silent children now talking so often I have to pray for patience and peace sometimes just to answer them with love.   Remind me of the person I used to be, just so I’ll face today with a better view of what you’ve done.  Remind me of all the ways you’ve stretched what I thought could be; of the days when you’ve drawn time and possibility out so far you’ve left me trembling.  So often your vision, your ability, your accomplishment eclipses my ability to see, because I only see a part, and that dimly.  But you, you observe it all, without the limits of time or bias.  You are always at work, working all things for the good of those who love you, those who’ve been called according to your purpose.   So I trust you with today, with this week, with right now, with all this how-things-seem and how-I feel.  I’m going to just leave it right here with you.  I’m resolved just to take one prayer-soaked step and then another.

I choose to live as yours—new, redeemed, resurrected.  And this moment–because every moment I must choose again–I choose not to grab up your glory as my own but to admit that the beautiful parts of me are really only the thin, weak, worn, gossamer places where you’ve come to live.  By your own hand, by grace, by His blood, you have restored the unlivable parts of my soul.  Today, I can own the truth that your goodness shows right through where once I was so wretched, where still I am broken, where I could not survive but for your Love.  I confess that I am often terribly wrong; that sometimes I still dress up in grave clothes and wander among the sealing-stones you have already rolled aside when instead, I should celebrate your victory.  So, to the One who Lives, who has overcome the world, I submit: This is the day that you have made; I will rejoice and be glad in it.