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It was one of those moments when bad news shocked me to my core, and I had no clear course of action except to fall down on the well-worn carpet next to my bed, sob my eyes out in my white cotton comforter, and pray the only word that came to mind: help. Over the years, the Lord and I have met at that bedroom spot too many times to count. We met there when I was pregnant with my daughter and yet another test revealed problems. We met there when the military moved us away from a location I didn’t want to leave. We met there when rejection and ugliness found a seat in my lap once again. The physical rooms have changed from house to house, but the place of prayer has not.
That spot is where I cry out all the things to Jesus, where I sense Him patting my back while whispering, Shh shh shhh, dear one. It’s where I come to the end of myself — again — and find the beginning of His strength in me. It’s where I hold onto the edges of His robe for dear life. It’s where I ask and beg and learn and accept, sometimes without saying anything audible.
Knees - Heavens - Nothing - Circumstances - Prayer
When I’m on my knees there, I feel closest to the heavens. When there’s nothing I can do to change my circumstances, prayer is not just how I deal with those circumstances; it’s the way I move through them.
Not long ago, I read the parable of the persistent widow in Luke, a story illustrating how we ought to pray and not lose heart. As Jesus tells, there was a city judge who didn’t care much about people or God. A widow in the city came to the judge repeatedly asking for justice...
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