I like the phrase “I believe in the power of prayer.” I really like the phrase “I believe God answers prayer.” But I’ve been thinking about these phrases, and something still seems lacking. The more I pray, the more I see prayer as a means to an end. But the end is not the answer—the getting the thing I want. Prayer is the means to the end of knowing God. Interacting with him. Getting to know his heart. Surrendering. Aligning my heart with his heart. Prayer is the conversation that never ends with the One who knows and loves me the best. Prayer is powerful because it changes me. Prayer is powerful because it connects me to a powerful God who can transform my tightly held list of desires into open hands, ready to receive what HE knows I need and what He delights to give me. Prayer is the path to peace. And God knows how much this heart so prone to fear needs peace. So He made a way through Jesus, the reconciler, for 24/7 access into the throne room of Almighty God, my Abba Father. He is always ready with open arms to receive me and lavishly pour out His love and truth. And this is why I like the phrase, “I believe in the power of prayer.”
Before we get too far into 2019 I want to share my gratitude for 2018. Sometimes I have a word for the year. In 2007 it was “Peace.” I sought for more inner and outer peace and focused on what that word really means. Other times there is a theme that seems to emerge from what is happening or what I am learning. In 2017 it was “Adventure and Healing.”
Last January these verses were given to me as my theme for 2018, and they proved so true!
“I have set the Lord always before me; because he is at my right hand, I will not be shaken. Therefore my heart is glad, and my whole being rejoices; my flesh also dwells secure.” (Psalm 16:8-9)
This was a year of leaning into God for stability while so much changed around me—family and friends moved, relationships changed, children continued to grow up, my homeschool community of the last six years disbanded, our neighborhood turned over (at least five houses on our street were bought and sold last year!) and more. Much more. There are buckets of emotion in each of those points. But God—the faithful covenant keeper. My rock. My fortress. My strong tower. The unchanging one. He knows the end from the beginning. I am learning—slowly learning—to lean into his stability because life never stops changing. As a person who craves security, He gently unfolds my fingers, tightly wound around that idol, and says, “I am enough.” I grasp for it again. (It’s not pretty.) He says, “Those things will not hold you forever. I am enough.” It’s a hard lesson. But an important one. I have not learned it completely, but I am different from last January 1. He is at my right hand. I will not be shaken. My heart is glad. I dwell secure.
God is a big God. Whatever He is saying to you this January 1—lean in. I am trying to do the same. He loves us so much. He wants our hearts. And when we hope in Him, He promises we will not be disappointed. Happy new year!
It was Christmas Eve. Everything was done. The cut sugar cookies, colorfully decorated by my family and friends a few days before, lay neatly stacked between parchment paper in containers. Gifts, wrapped in sparkles and shades of green, red, and gold, waited quietly under the tree. Luminaries, a neighborhood tradition, dotted the curb in front of our house, ready to light at sunset. In an hour we would leave for church, a favorite service of the year graced by the melodies of traditional carols and readings, then punctuated with the soft candlelit glow of “Silent Night.” In the meantime, while my husband finished up at the office, my three sons traversed the neighborhood delivering cards, gifts, and holiday greetings.
I fell into the sofa, a bit exhausted from the holiday preparations only mothers really understand. But I could rest and enjoy thisevening. My own mother was giving me a great gift: a night to just show up. After church, we planned to have dinner and “do Christmas” with my parents. I offered to contribute to the meal, but she insisted I do nothing. “Just bring yourselves!” she smiled. I was so looking forward to the evening. And the idea of Christmas morning, cozy and joyful, appealed to something deep within me. I could hardly wait.
Yet, in all this anticipation and potential joy, I felt a pang of sadness I could not shake. As I sat in my house alone, I gave it some thought. (I’ve learned not to ignore those feelings. They only grow bigger when shoved down or ignored.) Confused, I asked myself, “Why do I feel so sad?” Quickly, I realized the answer. In 24 hours it would all be over, just as all the Christmases before. I’ve had 44 of them so far. Weeks of preparation, and soon I would be left with cleaning up the paper, cutting off tags, finding places for all the new things, and eventually dismantling the tree and decorations, stuffing everything back into plastic bins until next year. I so wanted the happiness to last. My sadness was grief over how fleeting the joyful moments pass.
As he so often does in his goodness, God cut through the sting of that moment with truth and grace. Christmases come and go, yes. But the greatest gift that came to me through the first Christmas does not. In 24 hours another day will pass and life returns to normal. But… the next day is also a gift! And the day after that. And the day after that. All the way into eternity. The reality is that Christmas brought a person. And that person brought the gift of eternal life—days that never end. My Jesus’ birth, life, death, resurrection, and salvation change everything. Although the moments of joy are fleeting, he will give more moments in this life. And he will give have many, many, many more moments and much more joy for all eternity when he sets us entirely free from the constraints of time and broken hearts. Eternal life starts now. As Elisabeth Elliot once said, “All that was ever ours, is ours forever.”
Jesus came into that moment—truth and grace—with light and life that dispels the darkness and shadow of death. Just like that first Christmas. A bright star shining in the dark sky. The true light born into the night. No wonder the angels sang, filling the shepherds’ cold, inky field with the glory of heaven. The good news keeps coming in various tones and shades, in my life story, and in the Great Story that goes on and on.
My Times In His Hands 