Category Archives: Devo Drops

Thoughts on daily devotional scripture readings

Teach Us To Pray

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The disciples didn’t ask Jesus to teach them how to

walk on water,

or multiply loaves and fishes,

or quiet a storm.

They never asked for lessons in

preaching

or healing

or driving out demons.

There was no request for interpretation of Old Testament passages,

or an explanation of original sin and the fall of man.

The only thing the disciples asked Jesus to teach them was

how

to

pray.

So let’s not ask God to wow us with wonders,

or check off our wish list,

or indulge our whims.

Let’s not get hung up on

eschatology

or hagiology

or epistemology.

Let’s just lay down our pride and say,

“Lord, teach us to pray.”

teach us

Going Into the Closet

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closet“But when you pray, go into your closet, close the door and pray to your Father….”  Matthew 6:6

What do you think Jesus really meant when He said this?

Was He implying that I should try to find a happy place in my mind so I can feel a sense of calm and peacefulness?

Was the Lord hinting that I should shut my eyes when I pray to cut down on distractions?

Did Jesus mean that I should pray about what clothes to wear every morning?

Could He have been suggesting that if I can’t close my closet doors, that perhaps I have too many clothes?

Or was He instructing that I should

go into a closet

close the door

and pray?

Could you do it?  Would you do it?  Should you do it?

I mean, actually clear a place in an actual closet in your house, put a folding chair inside, and go sit on it for a few minutes every day. What would it be like to close your closet door and talk to God in there?

prayer closet

Nah, that can’t be what He meant.  I’d feel foolish sitting in my closet, praying.  What if someone heard me?  That would be embarrassing.  How would I explain my unusual actions?  Surely He wouldn’t ask me to do something odd like that.  What could possibly be the benefit of such a strange practice?  I must be taking Jesus’ words too literally.

“Prayer is not learned in a classroom, but in a closet.” E.M. Bounds

Prayers

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praying childI used to pray the same bed-time prayer every night.  My mom would tuck me in and listen to me recite this verse:

“Day is done, gone the sun, God be with us everyone.”

Then I would go on to “God Bless” everybody — Mommy and Daddy, Grandpas and Grandmas, brothers and sister, cousins and friends.

When our family gathered around the supper table and it was my turn to say the blessing, I always rattled off this little ditty:meal prayer

“Thank you for the world so sweet,
Thank you for the food we eat,
Thank you for the birds that sing,
Thank you God, for everything.”

My siblings and I each had our own special prayers to recite.  I don’t know who chose those little sing-songy verses or they how they got assigned to us.  Meals didn’t start until dad called on someone to say grace and we all bowed our heads.  For Sunday dinner, my brother would usually get the nod because his prayer was short enough to get in between plays of the Packer game:

“God is great, God is good. Let us thank him for our food. Amen.”

My prayers have changed since those days, but sometimes I still feel like I’m saying the same things over and over again.  If I’m getting bored with the way I pray, I wonder how God feels.  I have a lot to learn here.

Prayer is one of those topics that tend to induce guilt (“I know I should pray more.”) or anxiety (“I don’t have to pray out loud, do I?”) or doubt (Does it really make a difference?”).  Prayer can seem mysterious, but as Billy Graham once said, “Prayer is simply a conversation between you and God.”  And most of us are pretty good at talking.  Listening, on the other hand, can be a problem.

This fall I’m going to be leading a Bible study on prayer, so expect the topic to come up here in the coming weeks. I don’t expect to have an answer for every question about prayer or attempt to solve this thing once and for all.  Instead, my hope is that we will take a step forward in enjoying our relationship with our loving Father, who wants to chat with us awhile every day.

Hear my prayer, O God; listen to the words of my mouth.  Psalm 54:2

It’s Time

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Sometime this summer, this old clock stopped ticking.

Actually, it’s not an old clock.  It’s a $5.99 clock from Ikea.

I remember the day it happened.

One of my grands dipped it in the bathtub until the 5, 6, and 7 were drowning.

I dried it off and set it back on my desk, but the ticker was silent.

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I guess you could say that sometime this summer, I kinda stopped ticking, too.

I don’t know when it happened.

Maybe I was drowning in funerals (5) and weddings (6) and fun activities (at least 7).

I allowed myself to be silent for awhile.

Today I picked up that clock, wiped off the soap scum, twirled those hands around, and gave it a shake.

 The ticking returned! The rhythm is back!

My clock came back to life!

So I figure it’s telling me to do the same —

dust off the dander, limber up my hands, and breath some life back into small drop.

May the click of ideas and the rhythm of words return.

It’s time.

“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven.”  Ecclesiastes 3:1

Novocaine

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dentist

God bless Alfred Einhorn, who developed the pain-killer Novocaine in 1905.

I was the lucky recipient of a syringe full of the merciful magical anesthetic today.

For the past two weeks, I haven’t been chewing on my left side. Because it hurts. Okay, maybe it’s more like four weeks. So, being the adult that I am, I made a dentist appointment. Making that call required an enormous amount of self-control due to a traumatic dental history.

My mother took me to a small-town dentist near our home when I was very young. His office was above a store and we walked up creaky wooden stairs and through a creaky wooden door. The dentist had very thick glasses which made his eyes look huge. There was no dental assistant, no laughing gas, and no novocaine.

That’s right. I said no novocaine.

Once when he was drilling my tooth, he hit a nerve and I fainted dead-away in the chair. He picked me up and carried me in his arms out to the small waiting room. I’ve always wondered what my mother thought at the sight of her limp little girl. All I remember is coming to with smelling salts and his magnified eyes inches from my face.

Hence, the four (ok, maybe six) weeks of no chewing on my left side.

Today, as I sat in the dentist’s chair and felt my tongue and cheek go numb, I was grateful. Not for the Novocaine, but for a Savior that refused the pain-killer, because He was determined to be a sin-killer. As Charles Spurgeon, my favorite old dead guy wrote, “To us, sensations such as our Lord endured would have been insupportable, and kind unconsciousness would have come to our rescue; but in His case, He was wounded, and felt the sword; He drained the cup and tasted every drop.”

“They offered him wine mixed with myrrh, but he did not take it.”                  Mark 15:23

Praying for Me

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Somewhere along the line, I got it in my head that praying for myself was selfish. Prayer time was better spent lifting up other people, not my own wants and desires. Lately, I’ve heard holy whisperings that seem to be correcting this untruth.

Then, this morning, I saw this.

prayer

This blackboard is in one of our Sunday school rooms that goes mostly unused in the summer.  During the school year, our Bible study ladies put prayer requests on the board each week so we can remember who needs extra prayers. I happened to walk in the room this morning and glanced at the board. There it was — a message from heaven.  I stared at the words for a good minute, sensing this was meant for me.

I’ve kept a prayer list for years.  Some days, I go slowly through the list, pausing at each name, each need, each request. Other days, I lift the piece of paper up high and say, “See this list, Lord? Good. Amen.”

On most days, by the time I get through the line-up of family, friends, the church, and the world, there’s little time left. I may tag on some petitions for guidance in a decision or help with a particular situation, but as a rule, I keep myself off my prayer list.

Today, I read the writing on the wall.

It’s time to put another name on the list: Me.

“Create in me a pure heart, O God.”  Psalm 51:10

Vacation

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Today,

I  smell a yellow rose,

drink coffee from a smiley cup,

and watch PB read the paper across the table.

No deep thoughts,

no pressing demands,

no duties to perform.

I am taking a vacation

from myself.

 “Come away with me to a quiet place and get some rest.”  Mark 6:31

Hall of Fame

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sunday schoolLast Sunday our church honored those brave, hardy souls that came week after week to teach squirrelly children about the love of Jesus in Sunday school. These are people who intentionally chose to not sleep in on Sunday mornings for a good nine months. They volunteered knowing that antsy little boys and chatty little girls would ask unbelievably hard questions about God and life and the universe.  Some of our teachers who serve week after week also have been faithful year after year.  If there was a Sunday School Teacher Hall of Fame, I would have several inductees.

Being a Sunday school teacher can be daunting and thankless.  So, at the close of the school year, we sing the praises of these unsung heroes.

After applauding the sacrifice and dedication of these wonderful people, the congregation settled in for PB’s sermon.  He was preaching on Hebrews 11 – the great “Faith Hall of Fame” chapter.  The writer names several giants of the faith like Abraham and Moses, but ends the chapter with many unnamed saints who “faced jeers and flogging, while still others were chained and put in prison.  They were stoned, they were sawed in two; they were put to death by the sword.”

That jarring statement suddenly made teaching Sunday school look pretty tame.

So far, not one of our teachers has been sawed in two.

What we call “sacrifice”, the saints of old might have called “privilege”, “opportunity to serve”, or even “joy”.  Until I am chained and put in prison, maybe I better rethink the use of the word “sacrifice”.

High Heaven

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smellyThere’s been a mysterious smell in our house. It didn’t matter how many candles I lit, how many plug in air fresheners I plugged in, or how much Oust I sprayed. The foul odor lingered. It was especially strong near the kitchen, by the back door, in the closet.

This is the broom/mop/dog food/light bulb/batteries/wasp spray/duct tape/spray cleaner/recycle bin/plastic and paper bags/vacuum cleaner/ toilet brush/miscellaneous box closet. Did I mention there is a refrigerator in there, too?

It’s a big closet.

I also keep potatoes and onions in the stackable baskets.

Hence the stink.

I kept dropping hints to PB like, “Gosh, where could that awful stench be coming from?” Or “Did you step in something, dear?” I even tried to appeal to his curiosity by whispering, “There’s something in the closet and I think it’s dead.” He didn’t bite.

This was going to be my battle to fight.

In the dark recesses of the catch-all closet, I was momentarily startled by what I thought was a one-legged spider, but it was just a sad, shriveled potato.

It stunk to high heaven.

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Funny how such a little thing,

ignored for months in a dark closet,

can produce such a foul smell.

“Be tender with sinners, but not soft on sin.

Sin itself stinks to high heaven.”  Jude 1:23

Connected

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See these nice sturdy cement block walls?

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They are built to last.

See these durable ceiling tiles?

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They are firmly fixed in place.

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And outlets?  How many outlets does one building wing need?

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Back in 1965, nobody was thinking about wireless internet connections.

The word “internet” didn’t even make the dictionary until twenty years later.

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Today, a nice young man came to look things over and help us set up Wi-Fi.

He spent two and a half hours walking around, taking pictures and jotting down notes.  Pages and pages of notes.

Bless him.  He’s got his work cut out.

I’m sure glad the Spirit of God isn’t hindered by brick walls or immovable tiles.  I’m so relieved I don’t need wires or ethernets or modems or routers.

I just need to say, “Abba, Father.”

Connected.