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May 1, 2011

You know, prayer is a funny thing.  There are so many books, articles and sermons on the topic, yet nothing can replace digging into it for yourself.  We pray in a lot of situations – joy, thankfulness, grief… and we pray differently in each of them.  Sometimes I pray as if God were sitting right here with me, and others as if he were the president, standing at a podium while I interrogate him.  Sometimes I pray as though he knows everything, others as if he knows nothing.  It takes so many shapes.  I find beauty in the repetition of liturgy and creeds, yet I also find profound grace in one’s groaning for his presence.  We don’t need to utter fancy words or ensure our cries are theologically sound, for we are depraved and our words are poor.  But the Lord, in his goodness and mercy, hears our prayers, and in that there is hope.  Hope for a savior.  Hope for reprieve from pain.  Hope for all things to be made right once again.  I know there is a plan.  I know all things work together for the good of those who love him.  I know nothing happens apart from God’s knowledge or without purpose, even if that purpose is simply to juxtapose God’s goodness with the total depravity of the human condition.

God knows me.  He hears me.  In that I find hope.

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