The Prayer Warrior Life: When Words Won't Come

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When it became clear that Beth had arthritis and not an injury, I stood strong for a few days, and then fell into a pit of grief. And I couldn't pray. Words wouldn't come, though I could kiss her knees, or touch her knees, and plead with the Lord in my spirit.  My husband experienced the same thing.


We'd been silenced before, in 2000 and in 2005, with miscarriages. No words, just tears and blank stares, groans of the spirit, and needing to be held by the Lord.


We all experience things in this life that silence us for a time, and for the prayer warrior, it can be challenging to jump into disciplined prayer again, after a time away.


Like so many things in the Christian life, we must do it out of obedience. Obedience is a powerful way we can worship God.


Whether it is reading the Bible regularly, praying, helping the poor, raising our children to fear the Lord, telling others about Jesus, staying with an annoying or sinful spouse.....whatever. Sometimes it's easy, sometimes hard, but we do it as an act of worship. We just do it.


Our level of obedience, our level of worship, will be judged someday, and there will be rewards in heaven for a steadfast love for our Savior.


If you've walked away from prayer, go back. Remember your first love. Jesus.


And be blessed.


"I would rather train twenty men to pray, than a thousand to preach; A minister's highest mission ought to be to teach his people to pray." -H. MacGregor


Prayer does not fit us for the greater work, prayer is the greater work. --Oswald Chambers


There is not in the world a kind of life more sweet and delightful than that of a continual conversation with God. --Brother Lawrence


Our ordinary views of prayer are not found in the New Testament. We look upon prayer as a means for getting something for ourselves; the Bible idea of prayer is that we may get to know God Himself. --Oswald Chambers


Tell God all that is in your heart, as one unloads one's heart, its pleasures and its pains, to a dear friend. Tell God your troubles, that God may comfort you; tell God your joys, that God may sober them; tell God your longings, that God may purify them; tell God your dislikes, that God may help you conquer them; talk to God of your temptations, that God may shield you from them: show God the wounds of your heart, that God may heal them. If you thus pour out all your weaknesses, needs, troubles, there will be no lack of what to say. Talk out of the abundance of the heart, without consideration say just what you think. Blessed are they who attain to such familiar, unreserved intercourse with God. --Francois Fenelon


Why is it so important that you are with God and God alone on the mountain top? It's important because it's the place in which you can listen to the voice of the One who calls you the beloved. To pray is to listen to the One who calls you "my beloved daughter," "my beloved son," "my beloved child." To pray is to let that voice speak to the center of your being, to your guts, and let that voice resound in your whole being. --Henri Nouwen


We hear it said that a man will suffer in his life is he does not pray; I question it. What will suffer is the life of the Son of God within him, which is nourished not by food but by prayer...Prayer is the way the life of God is nourished. --Oswald Chambers


The Church has not yet touched the fringe of the possibilities of intercessory prayer. Her largest victories will be witnessed when individual Christians everywhere come to recognize their priesthood unto God and day by day give themselves unto prayer. --John R. Mott


The Church is looking for better methods; God is looking for better men. The Holy Ghost does not flow through methods, but through men. He does not come on machinery, but on men. He does not anoint plans, but men…Men of prayer." --E. M. Bounds


We lean to our own understanding, or we bank on service and do away with prayer, and consequently by succeeding in the external we fail in the eternal, because in the eternal we succeed only by prevailing prayer. --Oswald Chambers


When a Christian shuns fellowship with other Christians, the devil smiles. When he stops studying the Bible, the devil laughs. When he stops praying, the devil shouts for joy. --Corrie Ten Boom


Is the Son of God praying in me, or am I dictating to Him?....Prayer is not simply getting things from God, that is a most initial form of prayer; prayer is getting into perfect communion with God. If the Son of God is formed in us by regeneration, He will press forward in front of our common sense and change our attitude to the things about which we pray. --Oswald Chambers


Is prayer your steering wheel or your spare tire?-- Corrie Ten Boom


I have been driven many times to my knees by the overwhelming conviction that I had absolutely no other place to go. -- Abraham Lincoln


Some people pray just to pray and some people pray to know God. --Andrew Murray


More prayer quotes here.


To read more of my prayer journey, check out Into a Life of Prayer: A Journey Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

To read even more, check out The Prayer Warrior Life part 1; part 2; part 3; part 4; part 5, part 6, Part 7, 8, 9, 10

A sweet friend, Amy, wrote guests posts for us, telling of her prayer journey: Vol. 1, and Vol. 2, and Vol. 3, Vol. 4, Vol. 5

Author's Corner, James Warhola: If You're Happy And You Know It

Nothing delights two-year-old Beth like the song, "If You're Happy And You Know It". Spontaneously, she breaks into her favorite part, "If you're happy and you know it, do all three." Next you see her clapping, stomping and lifting her hands to proclaim, "Hooray!".

Perusing library shelves, I found a jungle edition of the classic song, written and illustrated by James Warhola.



What a giggle-filled workout!  There are ten hilarious motions:

- clap your hands
- stomp your feet
- scratch your fur
- give a roar
- flap your wings
- laugh out loud
- beat your chest
- jump up high
- crawl around
- blink your eyes
- do all ten

My little girl is the happiest child on the planet reading and acting out this hilarious book! Lots of jungle friends act out the motions at the playground, along with a couple unsuspecting kids.

Please, check it out! You need a good laugh today.

James Warhola, prolific illustrator, is the nephew of Andy Warhol. One of Warhola's books is about his famous uncle:



Read more about his work in children's literature here.

Grace and Damage Control

In case yesterday's post depressed you, I wanted to add a few quick positive thoughts.

I used to write between 10:00 PM and 1:00 AM, when my husband worked nights. It gave me time to delve into long topics, especially those that required research or reading. I simply can't do that very often now. It would horrify my husband to find his wife sitting at the computer every night. I need to actively avoid that folly.

So forgive the poor editing and lack of thought put into any partial nighttime, partial daytime posts. They must be fast and furious.

The possibility that we're making the same mistakes we resented our own parents for, is depressing. But a few things come to mind regarding damage repair and perspective.

Perspective

First, I recall a time when I had a very difficult student, in the year 1999-2000. My body and mind exuded stress. So much so, that I couldn't seem to get a lunch prepared the night before work, and I found myself frequenting a fast food restaurant during my lunch hour--always the drive thru. One day--one of my worst days--a fast food worker commented that I was always so happy, and how did I manage it?

I've told this story before, so forgive me for the repetition, but I think it illustrates the power and reign of the Holy Spirit in our bodies and lives. He decides what gets presented to the world. No, that doesn't mean we can be nasty and not suffer consequences, but it does mean there's always a softening and a grace administered by the Holy Spirit--especially when we're experiencing a trial (particularly trials not brought on by our own mistakes).

If you're ashamed of your behavior, remember that when trials come, so does grace.

Damage Control


My children recently cracked a library DVD, and after being lectured for that, continued, in the same week, to leave others out without cases. Also, we wasted time this same week looking for misplaced items. These circumstances left me concluding that my children weren't growing in maturity and responsibility. Hence, they got an earful that week. And a consequence.

Did I lecture them gracefully, mercifully?  No. My frustration and stress--all encouraged by Satan--won. (No, I didn't cuss at them--don't get a horror picture in your head.)

Did I, at the time, remember all the good things they do? No. Again, Satan's tactics won.

After repenting and asking for their forgiveness (without giving excuses), I set about controlling the damage. For every negative interaction, we have to increase the amount of positive interaction--not in a manipulative or contrived way, however, and not in a way that makes it seem like their behavior was acceptable.

Some ideas:

- Spend time painting or drawing or coloring with them ( in the same few days after a blow up)

- Write a nice note detailing all the reasons you're proud of them.

- Bake something with them, or read extra books.

- Take a walk, a bike ride, or make time for the park.

- Set aside a time every day, whether tuck-in time, or daytime rocking chair time, to speak love and encouragement into your children--each one separately. We should do this in good times and in bad--it should be a regular part of our parenting. Traditions like this are remembered and treasured. And, they can make up for other poorer parenting techniques. Love covers a multitude of sins.

I find it helpful to make myself a checklist of parenting/caretaking techniques and posting it somewhere like the fridge. Did I make time each day to cuddle, to cut fruit, to read stories, to just talk? Without such a list, I don't practice intentional parenting and my kids could go two days without fresh fruit for lunch or snack, or two days without a daytime story. It's far too easy to practice reactive parenting, especially when you're swamped.

Keeping outings at a minimum helps us practice intentional parenting. I find that when we have two whole days at home, consecutively, the week goes smoother. I don't get behind on chores, and my mind and body are more relaxed. My to-do list isn't overflowing.

The more we leave the house, the worse our parenting is, in some respects. We can't be hermits, but there's a delicate balance.

As much as kids think they like a lot going on, it's worth considering that time at home enhances creativity and fosters relaxation and bonding.

- The quieter children are more likely to grow up with resentments--the children who aren't trouble makers or consistently high maintenance. Be sensitive to them, knowing they may not always talk about their feelings. Draw them out, plan a fun outing with them, check in with them.

- Some children are peacemakers, and/or they put a burden on themselves to make everything better. That was me, growing up. It can lead to, in my opinion, co-dependent tendencies, if the child grows up with an identity that focuses primarily on rescuing others. (Not in a Compassion International kind of rescuing, but in a way that leaves them feeling unsatisfied when they're not "working" on someone.) I don't know how to remedy this, but keep it in prayer and keep a close watch. My husband and I find nothing in the Bible that addresses co-dependent behaviors, but it seems to both of us that they are, when taken to the extreme, unhealthy.

I hope this helps all the mommies out there!

Most importantly, remember this one thing. Recall the way Ann signs everything? Alls Grace. When you're a Christian, it's all about grace.

A Mother's Role: Not What You Think

What are your thoughts when reflecting on your mother, and on your relationship with her? Of the childhood you spent under her care? Blessed ones? Conflicted ones? A little of both?

My mother raised an ADHD child--my brother--and that colored my world quite a bit, growing up. I can't recall a single memory of her being happy. Part of it is personality type; she is introverted, reflective, fiery, perhaps a little glass-half-empty. But much of it was the daily stress of raising an ADHD personality. Disorders and dysfunctions color your world differently. Without firsthand experience, no one can understand.

But, my mother is kind and good and did her best to raise three fine children. And now that I'm forty-five, I think of her quite differently. I appreciate her efforts more and take her failings lightly. I live her realities and I wish I could have been the face of Jesus to her, all those years ago. Not a believer, she had no divine strength to draw from.

My own failings changed my perspective about my upbringing.

I also have an ADHD child, and now with Beth's arthritic condition, I have another challenge; my little girl experiences chronic pain. Not a stranger to chronic pain--daily migraines/rebound headaches--I understand how it threatens your hope and energy. But I'm mature enough to understand the reality of a sin-cursed world. My pain is minor. I'm keenly aware of this, even on the worst of days.

But Miss Beth, at 34 months old, can't understand what's happening. Her life has changed enormously and she can't comprehend why; nor does she have any idea how long this will last. This pains me as much as her diagnosis does.

When a child aches, mommy's love is like the face of Jesus. Mommy shares the pain. Though a young child can't understand what's happening to her body, she can understand grace, comfort, and love. I must be that for her, tirelessly.

With so much on my plate, I fail miserably in self-control--especially when someone loses something and my time is wasted searching. This happens far too often, with four kids around. I rant about irresponsibility and how can I do everything? Sometimes, like with Mary's AWANA book, I'm the one who misplaces something.

I'm making mistakes with my rants, with my anger, with my stress, just as my own mother did. I wonder if, at age 20 and 30, my children will feel blessed by their childhoods? Will it take them until 43 years old to come to terms with my imperfections, or will God fill them with grace and mercy for me, a sinner? Will they understand the toll of disorder?

I've added something to our mealtime prayers. I tell God in my children's hearing:  I'm not a perfect Mommy and I don't have perfect children, and may we all forgive each other in this house? May we love each other anyway, as Jesus love us?

I want the richest of relationships with them, with their spouses, with their children. I want us to be a fully functional, love-filled, grace-filled family, passing on intimate knowledge of the Savior.

I can't be the mother I want to be. I never will be, no matter how much chiseling God does on me.

When I sit with my face in my hands, wishing I could take back a rant over some silly, misplaced item, God speaks to me.

You are nothing, it's true, without Me.

- Cast your burdens on Me. 
- My plan is better than yours. 
- Entrust your children to me. 
- Know that my cross washes you clean.
- Know that my grace is sufficient for you, for them.


Draw them to the foot of the cross, where they belong. For someday, they will come face to face with their own failures. You don't bless them by being perfect. You bless them by seeing your own need for the cross, daily, and showing them their need.


I've written in this vein before about motherhood, but we all need this reminder.


A side note: Peter has been on Strattera 10 mg for over a year (a non-stimulant AD/HD drug). It helps some with the hyperactivity and takes the edge off the tic disorder and the OCD. However, it's the dose for a six-year-old child, and Peter will be ten in January. We hoped to never increase this dose. But, due to problems in Peter's relationship with Paul (stemming from too little impulse control), the doctor increased Peter's dose to 18 mg yesterday--still not enough for his weight, but enough that I saw a difference in the last 36 hours. I pray the change lasts and there are better days ahead. I can't help but wonder about the role of stress in daily arthritic disease activity. Stress affects our bodies in untold ways.

Fall Leafs Me Happy

Let me know if you read the Gospels with us. I have some Thanksgiving books to give away today. 

We're not done with John yet. Tomorrow I'll have the new homework.

I try to like summer but....well, I just don't. The swimming, the fireflies, the popsicles, the ice cream...my kids love it all. Daddy, too.

I love their exuberance about summer, and so in that regard I've made peace with my least favorite season. Although, this last summer the usual weather pattern went haywire. None of us liked the new menu.

The September rain behind us (that wasn't usual either), it's now beautiful. It's my time. I'm in love with the color, the temperatures, the food, the activities.

Even when I'm very old, I'll venture to a farm to pick apples and pumpkins in October. No matter my condition. It's that special to me. Fall makes me feel all warm and happy inside and missing even a minute of the fun just won't do.

I think I'll bake apple or pumpkin pie every day for the rest of October. (With frozen pie crust most of the time, probably).

Peter also loves fall and he's going to ask for a pie every. single. day. I know that boy. Yesterday we made crumb apple (rich in cinnamon, my favorite) and today he pined for pumpkin. He's my partner in fall crime.

Bless his leaf-lovin' soul.

What do you love about fall?

We had an eighty + degree day for our fall outing. Not exactly cozy, but hey, it hasn't rained for several days now. And the sky? A rare thing of beauty for Ohioans. All blue and magnificent.

The following poems and notes were found here.

October's Bright Blue Weather 

by Helen Hunt Jackson

O sun and skies and clouds of June And flowers of June together, Ye cannot rival for one hour October's bright blue weather; When loud the bumblebee makes haste, Belated, thriftless vagrant, And goldenrod is dying fast, And lanes with grapes are fragrant; When gentians roll their fringes tight, To save them for the morning, And chestnuts fall from satin burs Without a sound of warning; When on the ground red apples lie In piles like jewels shining, And redder still on old stone walls Are leaves of woodbine twining; When all the lovely wayside things Their white-winged seeds are sowing, And in the fields, still green and fair, Late aftermaths are growing; When springs run low, and on the brooks In idle, golden freighting, Bright leaves sink noiseless in the hush Of woods, for winter waiting; When comrades seek sweet country haunt By twos and twos together, And count like misers hour by hour October's bright blue weather. O sun and skies and flowers of June, Count all your boasts together, Love loveth best of all the year October's bright blue weather.

Biography

Helen Hunt Jackson (1831-1885) was an American poet and novelist. She was born in Amherst, Massachusetts, where her father was a professor in Amherst College, but she spent much of her life in California. She married a banker in Colorado Springs, Colorado, where she lived for a few years. Her poems are very beautiful, and "September" and "October's Bright Blue Weather" are especially good pictures of these autumn months.

The Huskers

by John Greenleaf Whittier

It was late in mild October, and the long autumnal rain Had left the summer harvest-fields all green with grass again; The first sharp frosts had fallen, leaving all the woodlands gay With the hues of summer's rainbow or the meadow flowers of May. Through a thin, dry mist, that morning, the sun rose broad and red; At first a rayless disk of fire, he brightened as he sped; Yet even his noontide glory fell chastened and subdued On the cornfields and the orchards and softly pictured wood. And all that quiet afternoon, slow sloping to the night, He wove with golden shuttle the haze with yellow light; Slanting through the tented beeches, he glorified the hill; And, beneath it, pond and meadow lay brighter, greener still. And shouting boys in woodland haunts caught glimpses of that sky, Flecked by the many-tinted leaves, and laughed, they knew not why; And schoolgirls, gay with aster-flowers, beside the meadow brooks, Mingled the glow of autumn with the sunshine of sweet looks. From spire and barn looked westerly the patient weathercocks; But even the birches on the hill stood motionless as rocks. No sound was in the woodlands save the squirrel's dropping shell, And the yellow leaves among the boughs, low rustling as they fell. The summer grains were harvested; the stubble-fields lay dry, Where June winds rolled, in light and shade, the pale green waves of rye; But still, on gentle hill-slopes, in valleys fringed with wood, ungathered, bleaching in the sun, the heavy corn crop stood. Bent low by autumn's wind and rain, through husks that, dry and sear, Unfolded from their ripened charge, shone out the yellow ear; Beneath, the turnip lay concealed in many a verdant fold, And glistened in the slanting light the pumpkin's sphere of gold. There wrought the busy harvester, and many a creaking wain Bore slowly to the long barn-floor its load of husk and grain; Till broad and red, as when he rose, the sun sank down at last, And like a merry guest's farewell the day in brightness passed.

And lo! as through the western pines, on meadow, stream, and pond, 
Flamed the red radiance of a sky set all afire beyond, Slowly o'er the eastern sea-bluffs a milder glory shone, And the sunset and the moonrise were mingled into one!

As thus into the quiet night the twilight lapsed away, And deeper in the brightening moon the tranquil shadows lay, From many a brown old farmhouse and hamlet without name, Their milking and their home-tasks done, the merry huskers came. Swung o'er the heaped-up harvest, from pitchforks in the mow, Shone dimly down the lanterns on the pleasant scene below, The glowing pile of husks behind, the golden ears before, And laughing eyes and busy hands and brown cheeks glimmering o'er. Half hidden in a quiet nook, serene of look and heart, Talking their old times over, the old men sat apart; While up and down the unhusked pile, or nestling in its shade, At hide-and-seek, with laugh and shout, the happy children played. Urged by the good host's daughter, a maiden young and fair, Lifting to light her sweet blue eyes and pride of soft brown hair, The master of the village school, sleek of hair and smooth of tongue, To the quaint tune of some old psalm, a husking-ballad sung.

About the Author

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER

John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1892) was born near the town of Haverhill, Massachusetts, not far from Hawthorne's birthplace. He had very little opportunity for education beyond what the district school afforded, for his parents were too poor to send him away to school. His two years' attendance at Haverhill Academy was paid for by his own work at making ladies' slippers for twenty-five cents a pair. He began writing verses almost as soon as he learned to write at all, but his father discouraged this ambition as frivolous, saying it would never give him bread. His family were Quakers, sturdy of stature as of character. He is called "The Quaker Poet."

Whittier led the life of a New England farm boy, used to hard work and few pleasures. His library consisted of practically one book, the family Bible. Later, a copy of Burns's poems was loaned to him by the district schoolmaster. Like Burns he had great sympathy with the humble and the poor. In his poems. Whittier described the scenes and told the legends of his own locality. Home Ballads and Songs of Labor, in which "The Huskers" and "The Corn-Song" appear, are among his most widely read books. They picture country life and the scenes of the simple occupations common in his part of the country. Whittier was intensely patriotic and religious by nature. His happiness lay in his association with his friends, with children, animals, and the outdoor world.

In these respects he was like Bryant, a man who found pleasure in simple things. Like Bryant, also, he was interested in public affairs. Any injustice to the poor he opposed passionately. He wrote many poems in protest against slavery. He wrote, also, ballads of early New England history, and some of our most beautiful religious poetry comes from his pen. His life was less filled with business cares than that of Bryant, but it was equally full of interests that made him happy and source of help and joy to others.