Dear God,
This is Kelley.
A friend gave me a book of daily meditations. I forget to read it every day, but yesterday's meditation I did read. In part it says, "At some point in your growing friendship with God, you come to discover a staggering sense of power in prayer." (Alone in God's Presence, Summerside Press)
I know this staggering sense of power. I have been caught up in it. I have come close and felt Your presence; I've been knocked to my knees at Your concern and overwhelming love. But, Lord, I have also withdrawn from You because of a darkness that still exists within me.
There were times in my life, Lord, when I begged You to change my situation, and You did not. There was turmoil and agony that lasted not just for days or weeks or even months, but for years, Lord. And my immature mind attributed to You the same traits I saw in those who caused my agony: You have need of power and control, and You must impress that need upon us by making us wait until we almost break before You will issue a saving hand. This is ugly, Lord, yes, and I am sorry this exists in my mind, but I understand its origin. Now, how do I remove it from You?
This darkness does not enter my daily prayer most of the time. It rears its head only when I come to You in pain, wanting something deeply from Your hand. That is when it comes and nearly forces me to whisper my prayer, push it under the door of Your notice and run away, battling the thoughts that intrude -- He won't answer; He'll make you wait; He'll make you beg. And all the while what I know of You tries to ease these remarks and replace them with truth.
Just this realization will help a great deal, won't it, Lord? Thank You for this. I have known this for years, but I have never spelled it out like this. This takes away a lot of this darkness's power. This is a trust issue, and I know I can trust You. I trust You, Almighty God. Help my lack of trust.
This is Kelley.
A friend gave me a book of daily meditations. I forget to read it every day, but yesterday's meditation I did read. In part it says, "At some point in your growing friendship with God, you come to discover a staggering sense of power in prayer." (Alone in God's Presence, Summerside Press)
I know this staggering sense of power. I have been caught up in it. I have come close and felt Your presence; I've been knocked to my knees at Your concern and overwhelming love. But, Lord, I have also withdrawn from You because of a darkness that still exists within me.
There were times in my life, Lord, when I begged You to change my situation, and You did not. There was turmoil and agony that lasted not just for days or weeks or even months, but for years, Lord. And my immature mind attributed to You the same traits I saw in those who caused my agony: You have need of power and control, and You must impress that need upon us by making us wait until we almost break before You will issue a saving hand. This is ugly, Lord, yes, and I am sorry this exists in my mind, but I understand its origin. Now, how do I remove it from You?
This darkness does not enter my daily prayer most of the time. It rears its head only when I come to You in pain, wanting something deeply from Your hand. That is when it comes and nearly forces me to whisper my prayer, push it under the door of Your notice and run away, battling the thoughts that intrude -- He won't answer; He'll make you wait; He'll make you beg. And all the while what I know of You tries to ease these remarks and replace them with truth.
Just this realization will help a great deal, won't it, Lord? Thank You for this. I have known this for years, but I have never spelled it out like this. This takes away a lot of this darkness's power. This is a trust issue, and I know I can trust You. I trust You, Almighty God. Help my lack of trust.
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