I like to think of prayer as approaching God.
Sometimes the path to God is golden with sunshine- perfectly lit and warm with golden autumn trees. A path that is made for dancing and skipping and crunching leaves.
Sometimes the path to God is dark and blue and long, but the stars glow above and the moon washes me and I feel close to light even in the darkness. This is a path that is made for discovering and hoping and the contented knowledge of freedom.
Sometimes the path to God is so cloudy, so foggy that nothing is visible. Those are the scary times. The times when I wander and wonder if I still am on the path. Wonder if I have, perhaps, accidentally turned around and am now walking away from Him? The worst is not knowing how close to Him I really am. The reaching out is frightening and disappointing when my hand seems to once again clench nothing when all I need is something strong and firm and still. The mist swirls and I can feel it seeping into me and I don’t want to keep looking.
Panic feels as though it is always just one thought away.
I want to stop.
I want to sit.
But I know that God is there- somewhere- and that pushes me on.
This is the path that is made for wanting and trusting and clinging.
To find Him is such a relief.
When my fingers feel that rock and that refuge becomes real in the mist.
I am so glad to be near Him. So glad that I didn’t sit down and give up.
Coming to God is the first part.
The next part is actually talking to Him.
Talking to Him looks different, depending on what we are talking about.
Sometimes He sits on a throne and I kneel and can hardly look at Him because I have sinned again and He tells me to come closer, but I can’t because I am ugly and so He steps down and comes to me. Sometimes I stand in front of that throne and tell my story with big motions and jumbled words and He smiles to see me so animated. Sometimes I come to His throne shaking and in tears and begging. And he listens and cries. Sometimes I lug burdens along, and He leans forward in that throne, forehead furrowed and chin in his hand and I know that He is listening and caring. Sometimes I come just to sit, because I need to be with Him, and He just watches me and it’s okay to be so continuously watched because He is healing me. Sometimes I come and I am jittery with worries and He reaches out and puts heavy hands on my shoulders and I feel myself growing calm.
And sometimes I come because I need to be valuable and His hands are the only thing that can prove to me that I am.
He is so very real.