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It’s ok to be speechless in front of Jesus.

There is something disconcerting and something else peaceful about being still in thought and silent in word in front of the Blessed Sacrament.

But en route to the church, I think.

I have to spill my guts to Christ, I think.

[shareable]There is something disconcerting and peaceful about being still and silent in front of Jesus. [/shareable]

I think I have to tell him something and wait for his response, or for a blanket of warmth if it’s cold out, or something, or an inexplicable breeze if it’s not (neither has ever happened, it’s just what I think of). That this time, my prayer should be intentional and uninterrupted. No distractions. Continue reading “It’s ok to be speechless in front of Jesus.”

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A kick in the pants for people who stink at praying.

god-help-me-how-grow-in-prayer-jim-beckman-paperback-cover-artI AM THE WORST AT PRAYING. I typed that confession, mildly hyperbolic and wholly rooted in frustration with my apparent commitment to distraction, while I half-watched the Olympics on a giant flat-screen TV.

I do not need to watch the men’s slalom more than I need to sit with Jesus, but I picked it (and even for a distraction, showed up with divided attention).

Then I thought of God, Help Me: How to Grow in Prayer – the book my friend and fellow blogger Edmund Mitchell recommended in a post he wrote about it awhile ago. I bought it the day I read what Edmund wrote. I read most of it shortly after.

Then grad school got hard until graduation. Then I wrote a book. Then I wanted to hibernate.

But I stood. I stepped away from the slalom. I searched my room for the book. I found it, buried beneath others, and finished it. The book, by Jim Beckman, who works as faculty at the Augustine Institute, is simultaneously a swift kick in the pants and an empathetic hug for whoever is “the worst at praying.” Continue reading “A kick in the pants for people who stink at praying.”

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What I learned about our lives from a lightning bolt.

As the sky darkened, lightning lined distant clouds while my dog — a red brindle longhaired dachshund — crossed the mulch in our back yard. The thunder’s rumble, too far from us to faze to him, warned of an impending storm, a norm for five at night in a Florida summer.

I watched from the porch while Rudy frolicked, and I wondered if we should hurry, ’cause there’s a reason we call where I live the “lightning capital.” He wagged his tail and sniffed the earth with curiosity and bliss and innocence — until the lightning struck. Continue reading “What I learned about our lives from a lightning bolt.”

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This is the only way to grow in your faith life.

god-help-me-how-grow-in-prayer-jim-beckman-paperback-cover-art“I AM THE WORST AT PRAYING.”

I typed the confession to a friend, mildly hyperbolic and wholly rooted in frustration with my apparent commitment to distraction, while I half-watched the Olympics on a giant flat-screen.

I do not need to watch the men’s slalom more than I need to sit with Jesus, but I picked it (and even for a distraction, showed up with divided attention).

Then I thought of God, Help Me: How to Grow in Prayer — the book my friend and fellow blogger Edmund Mitchell recommended.

Then grad school got hard until graduation. Then I wrote a book. Then I wanted to hibernate.

But I stood. I stepped away from the slalom. I searched my room for the book. I found it, buried beneath others, and finished it over the weekend. The book, by Jim Beckman, who works as faculty at the Augustine Institute, is simultaneously a swift kick in the pants and an empathetic hug for whoever is “the worst at praying.”

Below you’ll find my favorite excerpts. Hope they kick you in the pants and hug you, too:

  • “There is very little in prayer that depends on me. … The only things that I bring to the mix are consistently showing up for prayer and the disposition of my heart when I am there. With so little to contribute, I have decided that I want to make sure I’m doing my part every day.” -p. 13
  • “The way we spend our time tends to reveal what we place value on. One author I read on this topic observed with amusement that no one ever died of hunger because of not having time to eat. There are things we do with our time every day, and if we track our activity, we’ll see what is truly important to us. If prayer is something we place value on, we’ll make time for it.” -p. 14
  • “…desolation is one of the main stumbling blocks for many (young adults). The minute someone experiences some distance from God, it becomes a reason to stop praying and to give up spiritual disciplines. Yet the very purpose of the desolation is to strengthen your resolve, not for you to give up! So hold fast!” -p. 44
  • “…This is classic desolation. It is evident even in some of the wording of her emotions: never, always, no one, the only person. This is the voice of the enemy: He tends to speak in absolutes like this.” -p. 52
  • “If you desire to grow in your faith life, you must make a commitment to consistently spend time in prayer. There is no other way.” -p. 58
  • “Little things done consistently become a formidable force in our lives. The issue is which direction these habits are moving us.” -p. 96
  • “Our supernatural habits may deeply desire time with God in prayer, while our natural habits would desire more time in bed! ‘Grace has to operate through our faculties; we have to work for the destruction of habits that make our faculties bad instruments and for the development of habits that will make the good instruments — to the point where the supernature has become as sort of second nature.’ … Get out of bed to pray more time than you decide to sleep, and eventually a new habit will be formed. But get some resolve about you. This way of living isn’t easy, nor should it be.” -p. 112.

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Thoughts on prayer.

There is something disconcerting and something else peaceful about being silent in thought and word in front of the Blessed Sacrament.

En route to the church, I think.

I have to spill my guts to Christ, I think.

I think I have to tell him something and wait for his response, or for a blanket of warmth if it’s cold out, or something, or an inexplicable breeze if it’s not (neither has ever happened, it’s just what I think of). That this time, my prayer will be intentional and uninterrupted. No distractions.

And so in the church, I kneel, and I greet Jesus, and then I remember an email or a deadline or my attitude problem. I rein in my thoughts. I greet Jesus again, and focus firmly on the tabernacle first. Then on the giant crucifix above it. Then on how I want to be a better public speaker.

Come on, Arleen.

I greet Jesus. Again.

I want to say words, more words than the ones in my default opener…

Thank you, Lord…

…but I can’t think of any.

Which bothers part of me. The part that thinks I should be able to articulate a reason to be here, that I should gush, or at least communicate for more than a minute before my mind turns to how hungry I am or to whether I should wear my hair curly tomorrow. The part that thinks I have no excuse for this.

The other part of me thinks it’s totally ok. That’s the part that recalls how many times I have been told not to talk as much as I listen. To make what distracts me part of my prayer. That the sacrifice of being there is prayer enough, sometimes.

Again, I greet Jesus.

Sorry for the time(s) I was awake enough to watch four reruns of Everybody Loves Raymond but too tired to pray by the time I turned off the TV. Sorry for the time(s) I put the snooze button before you. For zoning out during the homily. For all my seeking first the other stuff.

I think, then, of all the other stuff.

Then I greet Jesus, again.