Skip to main content

the list


Recently I read Radical by David Platt. I’ll talk more about that later. Maybe.
I kind of had a mixed response ……but the last chapter I am especially a fan of.
It asks you to commit to reading the entire bible and praying for the entire year (and a few other things) over the course of the next year.
And I decided I was in.
That was a few weeks ago. And I’m not so good about every single day.
But I am doing it.
The praying for the world part is especially challenging because I’m pretty sure I am the world’s worst prayer.
Atleast the focused, remember to pray for your friends, and quiet listening type of prayer. And big general things like world peace and countries I have never heard of. Forget it.
The “please help” and occasional “thanks” prayers I have down pat.
But there is a great website (http://www.operationworld.org/) that walks you through specific countries and needs to pray for each day.
And so today. I was good.
I had some time before my 1st block class and I went to the website. I scanned the information. Threw up a quick prayer for the people of Nigeria.
And then I literally checked it off my list.
Yep.
It was on my to do list.
Right between pick up copies and make a test review.
And as I marked off pray for the world on my to do list something inside me screamed.
This is not how God intended it.
His kingdom is the entire list. Not something sandwiched between items 6 and 7.
And guilt filled me a bit as I headed down to the copier, I tried to pray a bit longer for the Muslim – Christian conflict in Nigeria.
But mostly I just hoped I could get the rest of my stuff done before the bell rang.
And I am torn.
I’m a bad prayer. And part of my wanted to congratulate myself for remembering to pray. And especially to pray for someone besides myself.
But mostly I felt like a legalistic Pharisee checking things off my list and hoping to be noticed. Rather than loving with my whole heart.
And I’m trying to find a way to live radically and get my papers graded, my son’s lunch packed and a good workout in at the gym. And am afraid that maybe it can’t be done. At least not with a list
Because then all I will be is radically productive.
Bigger Picture MomentThis post is part of bigger picture blogs..........and attempt to find the bigger picture in our crazy week and look for faith along the way. Check out some of the other posts at Hyacynth's blog.


Comments

Hyacynth said…
Michelle, you just flooded me with about seven different emotions with this post. I love your heart. And I love that you are wanting to be in prayer for the needs of others.
And, you know, I think God cares that your heart wanted to be in prayer. {Reminds me of the verse the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak ...} Because we are all distracted by the flesh, by the world. It's so hard to live in the world and not be of the world.
So many people use reminders for praying. He created you as a person who is reminded by lists maybe? If you're truly caring about the prayer, I don't think it matters much how you're reminded ... in my very humble opinion.
I think, too, that the evil one wants you to think you are a bad prayer so you won't pray. I was listening to a message on prayer, and Dr. Evans was talking about how when we pray we are flooding the forces of heaven and it's a very spirtual battle that emerges. I fully believe that. So keep on praying. List or no list.
And I'm going to take a cue from you, and I'm going to make a list. Because I think the more we practice, the more we better understand how to flood the gates with requests for God's will to be done.
{Sorry for the book. I'm very passionate about this. :) }

Popular posts from this blog

pace yourself

Tonight I went running with a friend ten years my junior. I asked her how far she was running and when she said only about 1.5 or 2 miles, I teased her that I could go at least twice that far. And to just let me know when she needed to stop. I have been running pretty regularly for the last few weeks. It isn’t long but keep increasing my time and distance. I’ve stopped getting blisters. I don’t suck wind after five minutes anymore and I was feeling pretty good about myself. Thinking I might even be able to out run this girl who was so much younger and obviously in more shape than me. As we started to jog I told her that I run pretty slow. Like my husband used to walk beside me while I ran, slow. And she slowed her gait a little bit for me but it was still faster than I usually go. I was a little embarrassed and was not going to ask her to slow down again. So I just ran at her pace. I stayed close. And was fading fast. A little over a mile in I was ready to quit. Again, pride, which isn...

pursue something else.

Americans like the idea of happy. of pursuing happiness. It is even one of our inalienable rights at least according to the Declaration of Independance. But I think maybe we should pursue something else. like love or joy or peace or contentment. and leave happy alone. Don't read me wrong. I am neither bitter nor cynical. Even my problems are good problems. I am positive. Half full. And most days I laugh a whole lot more than I cry. And simple things like a dance party in the living room, an hour alone in Barnes and Noble, the yellow pajama pants my son picked out for me for mother's day, potstickers, clean sheets, someone surprising me with coffee, jeans fresh from the dryer, a good song on the radio, or squeals of delight when I walk in the door all make my heart sing. They make me happy. For a minute. But when the squealing turns to screaming, my new pants are dirty, the sheets are in a jumble on the floor or the coffee runs out....where does that leave me? And happy isn'...

my first dance

My wedding day is a little bit of a blur. And it was a great day. But so many people and so much going on and so many moments that it is hard to remember them all clearly without the help of photographs. But I totally remember my first dance as a bride. And it wasn’t with my husband. Or even my father, or brother. I had quickly kicked off my heels and hid them underneath a table. Said my hellos and hugs and smiled until my face hurt. Someone ushered us through the buffet line and I piled my plate with hors d'oeuvres and headed to a table. But before I could pop a single shrimp in my mouth someone grabbed me firmly by the arm and pulled me onto the dance floor and into a jitterbug before I could protest. It was my husband’s granddaddy. A man I had only met about a few times and heard say about as many words. So I was a little surprised when he spun me around the dance floor. Eventually that night I danced with my husband. And my dad. And probably even my brother. But my fir...