To Whom I Pray

You ever found yourself in reach for God that resembled a one-sided discussion? I think our prayers can often look like this.

The presence of self-righteousness will allow you to gasp at this question while quietly accepting the reality… Of course you have. What gives you up is not your, not so squeaky clean spirituality but your unavoidable humanity.

Anyway, back to the point, I’ve been there more times than I would like to count. It’s that prayer that sounds like I’m moving heaven and earth, I’m binding, I’m loosening, I’m calling up and falling down, I’m breaking up and breaking through, I’m pulling down imaginations and hallucinations, I’ve got spit flying out of my mouth, a King James Bible in one hand and a Strong’s Concordance in the other, I’m chasing visions and dreaming dreams, I can speak like the prophets of old, take my own altar call and answer it.

I can pray the best prayers and still feel unheard and unanswered.

Recently in a journey through the book of Psalms I realised a simple yet amazing truth: it’s not the intensity in which I pray, it’s not the eloquence of my petition, or the piety in my heart. It’s not the stature of my wisdom or the ability to place theology in my reach and salt my supplication with well-placed scriptures, it’s not the power of my prayer but the God to whom I pray.