prayer

Rediscovering the ACTS prayer

  Raise your hand if, somewhere along the way, you learned the ACTS prayer? If you aren't familiar with it, this acronym stands for Adoration, Confession, Thanksgiving, Supplication. (because who doesn't call prayer requests, "supplication?" As in, "I'm supplicating for you." I'm going to start saying this). Whether intended or not, (and I'm sure it wasn't), the first three felt to me like some sort of payment. Like I didn't have a right to ask anything unless I had duly praised God first. Throw in some confession for good measure. And just in case He wasn't placated, I should thank Him for a few things. Then, and only then, could I ask for something. I always wondered if I'd done enough of the first three to warrant the fourth, or if God was looking at me with my favorite emoji face, one eyebrow flat, the other raised, "Really, Gina? You think that's enough?" Honestly, it discouraged me from praying. Too much work. Along the way, I suppose I realized that's NOT how prayer works, and I became more comfortable just asking. But lately, I've been rediscovering the value of ACTS prayer. Rediscovering ACTS prayer It started one morning when I woke with a prayer heavy on my heart. I was tempted to dive straight into my request, but instead, I wrote in my journal, "Who is God?" In light of this situation, who is He? How does He see it? What can He do? I wrote, "He is good, compassionate, able. In the past, He has been faithful. He will be faithful again. None of this is unknown to Him. He plans to use all of it, not only in my life but in the lives of everyone around me. Wisdom and patience pour from Him." As I dwelt on these things, the weight lifted. And, I became acutely aware of the anxiety I was carrying, the ways I hoped to manipulate the situation. The most natural thing to do was confess that, something much easier to do in light of God's goodness to me. Buoyed by seeing Him, and being right with Him, I found myself thanking Him for the anticipated path I saw this situation taking. Gratitude for the answer I knew He would provide, even if it wasn't what I might think I want. When I finally got around to actually bringing my request to God, it came from such a different place. I felt full of faith and hope-such a stark contrast to how I began. How ACTS changes us Yes, God deserves our praise. For all He is, this should be our first and more frequent posture toward Him. But adoration does something in us too. It reminds us of what is true: about Him, about us, about our circumstances. [ictt-tweet-inline]Worship is like dusting off the window so we can see life clearly again and move in the right direction, toward Him. [/ictt-tweet-inline]We see what is most true. And in light of who He is, I see myself…

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When Weeping Is Prayer

  I read about a family whose 6-year-old twin boys and 9-year-old daughter died while waiting for a bus. I started to pray for the family in their loss, but all I could do was cry. No words. It's not the first time. So often, the weight of the needs around me feels too much to put into prayer. Tragedy in our country. A tough diagnosis. A friend's child's struggles. My child's struggles. Recently, my own work felt overwhelming, and Jesus whispered to me to stop and pray. When I did, tears came instead. But maybe that is prayer. Because isn't prayer about honesty? Isn't it touching the heart of God? And doesn't God weep with us? Prayer is a conversation. He invites, we respond. We come, He listens. And in it, we bring our hearts. Sometimes maybe the way we love best is not with words, but with emotion. We step into others' reality. Allow their pain to become ours. Or we step into our own reality. We allow our pain to show. We let ourselves feel. Our hearts come to the surface, and we let Jesus touch them. We let them be caught and held by the Savior. After all, that's what Jesus did. He stepped into our reality. He embraced our humanity. Allowed our pain to become His, to the point of death. God Weeps with Us And He does it day after day. He is not the God who stands at a distance., but the One who watches for the prodigal. When He sees him He scoops up His robes and goes running. He is the God who bears witness to all the pain of the world, even that which others do not know. Closer than a heartbeat, He is El Roi, the God who sees. He is the God who collects our tears in a bottle, who hears every sigh and sees every longing. What He hopes for from us, more than our words, is our hearts. There is an aversion in our culture to enter pain. We stand at a distance and pray, but our prayer is more, "God may that never happen to me," than, "God this is ours to bear together." Or, when the hurt is ours, the prayer is, "God make this go away so I don't have to feel it" rather than "God here is my heart, please hold me in the midst of the battle." What Our Weeping Says There is a difference between weeping from despair, and tears of honesty. The latter is brave-letting ourselves feel our humanity while we face reality before the One who alone can bring redemption of all that is broken. So I'm learning to let tears be part of my prayer. When they are for others, they are tears that say, "I do not want to stand at a distance from this." I want to stand alongside them, where Jesus is. Most likely, someday I will need someone else to cry prayers for me.…

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Why Pray?

This was a summer of big prayers. It was also a summer of "no" in answer to those prayers. It left me a little raw. I declared myself "the persistent widow" from the beginning (Luke 18:1-8). Our son faced some huge obstacles that needed mountain-moving prayer. I was ready to be audacious. I asked big. Give me the pony, God, I know you can do it. But He didn't. The summer left him without the housing we desperately prayed for this fall. In fact, he's worse off than he started; one of his closest friends, who was going to room with him in the dorms, got into that housing, leaving him with a random roommate. That was a hard, hard no. A dear friend of ours suffered a brain aneurysm. For two weeks we joined her husband and sons in aching prayer for healing. They are prayer warriors. Although I know it's not necessarily true, it feels like their prayers reach God's ears more than the rest of us because of that. But they didn't. Her healing came in the form of going home. That "no" was heartbreaking. My Big Prayer I had a big prayer recently, one I was hesitant to share with others, because what if it was a "no," too? All kinds of crazy thoughts came to mind when I thought about this request. Part of me thought, "God, I feel I'm about due for a 'yes,' what do you say?" Almost like He owes me. (I told you-crazy thoughts). On the other hand, He seems to be in the habit of doling out the "no" responses lately. Why expect something else? And yet, I prayed. And prayer is hope, and hope is scary. Prayer is handing our hearts and dreams and control all over to God, like a small child emptying her sticky pockets into His hands. The track record of this summer made me throw some side eye at God, wondering, "what will you do this time?" I know He does good. I just don't know how much the good might hurt. It makes me ask again, "why even do I pray?" Why Pray? Do I pray because I want my way? You betcha. In my kingdom, comfort and happiness reign. The problem is, we're meant to pray for His kingdom to come, not ours. We become myopic about the ways we want God to answer prayer. Our definition of His goodness is narrow. We forget about His higher thoughts and ways. But it's so easy to do. And that's why every prayer is a wrestling, a choice to invite His wisdom, power, and sovereignty into our lives and declare our dependence, while at the same time, proclaiming, "yet not my will but yours be done." We lay our desires before Him, and then vulnerably allow Him to answer as He pleases. When Jesus saw people walking away from Him in disappointment, He asked His disciples, "Do you want to go too?" If I don't…

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What God Doesn’t Need Us to Tell Him

Sitting in a time of silence one morning, I felt led to pray for our son. In the words that poured out, I sounded like I was informing God of our son's situation. Like He didn't know. I do this sometimes. Talk to God about my life like He needs more information. Like if only He really knew what was going on, He would spring into action in a way He seems to not be. Alongside this news briefing is a desire to get God to care as much about the situation as I do. As if He doesn't. I beg God to love my kids as much as I do. Care about this crisis in my life as much as I do. As though He's indifferent. Why do we do this? Why do we pray this way? God is not a sleeping giant we must rouse to compassion and action on our behalf. He doesn't come help the ones who scream the loudest and seem the neediest. God already knows He is able to do more than we ask or imagine. We are engraved on the palm of his hands. Nothing escapes Him. He's got this. He's got us. Even the care we feel about our part of the world pales in comparison to how He loves it. He IS love. I can't say that about myself, even toward those who most have my heart. He aches for what we love, more than we ever could. May that perspective fuel our prayers. [ictt-tweet-inline]Rather than screaming for God's attention, may we sink into the awesome awareness that we already have it. [/ictt-tweet-inline]The hairs on our head numbered. His thoughts of us more than the grains of sand on the shores of the world. Every one of those thoughts fueled by love, goodness, compassion, grace, mercy. Fortified with wisdom, power, insight, sovereignty. Then our prayers won't be us waving our arms to be seen but raising them in praise and gratitude. Instead of wringing our hands, we open them to release these things we love and hold so tightly. Rather than pleading, our prayers will bring us to peace and perspective. We join in with what He's already doing for our people, the world. Step into the confidence that comes from knowing He is at work. Rejoice that our hearts are known, and already His plans are laid for us. He doesn't need us to tell him anything. He just needs us to trust. Related posts: On Waiting Well Ask God for the Pony

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On Waiting Well

I might be the most impatient person in the world. I hate waiting for anything. This video's going to take a minute to load? Not worth it. I have to wait how long for this to cook? Not if I turn the temperature higher. Don't even get me started on the big stuff. Like waiting to see my book published. It seemed like the process was going quickly, like, "other authors might hate me if it's this easy" quickly. And then it wasn't. The process is still moving, but oh so slowly. I'm still waiting to see what God will do. Or this decision we have to make. Our family has prayed about it for months. It's door 1 or 2. That seems simple. Waiting for an answer is agonizing. We want to know now. Unfortunately, God seems uninterested in our timelines. He doesn't usually do fast, especially when it comes to spiritual growth, character change, answering the big prayers, or making the dreams happen. But Psalm 130:6 says, "I will wait for the Lord more than watchmen wait for the morning, more than watchmen wait for the morning." A night of watching and waiting sounds like drudgery. Unproductive. Frustrating. It flies in the face of my impatience. Waiting like this means we are helpless. We can't make that sun come up one minute faster. It begs humility from us. It requires us to relinquish control. It asks us to trust. It asks us to hope. I've heard the word "wait" in scripture is often interchangeable with "hope." This verse is asking us to put all our chips on God, all our hope in His goodness. But hope is scary. Hope opens up our hearts to disappointment. Yet this is the stance I want to take towards God. I want to be someone who waits well. I want to be a woman who hopes. When I read this verse, I think of the watchtowers on the Great Wall of China. I imagine those watchmen putting all their hope in the dawn. Sunrise meant relief - the end of their watch. It meant rest, and rescue. It was a sure bet, that sun coming up. It was hope well placed. Waiting keeps us dependent on God. These months of waiting have tethered us to God. It has been a long night, but it has been a night spent watching and hoping, expecting that He will answer. The night is when we are tempted to doubt, to become anxious, to wonder if He really is paying attention, if He cares. We're tempted to take matters into our own hands (as if we can rush the morning). But the night is when our souls learn to trust. Because morning is coming. Whether it's the answer to prayer, or the heart change, or the character growth, or the dream fulfilled, He will come. As surely as the sun rises, He comes.  No, not always the way we want. Often not the way we want. But the way we need, yes. He is worthy of…

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Warning: Don’t Forget to Breathe

In the quiet of a dimly lit room, standing unsteadily on a foam mat, wondering if everyone behind me was judging my form (they weren't), I tried to focus. Arms up, down to prayer, bend over. Lift halfway, down again, now back up and reach . . . and oh yeah, don’t forget to breathe. It seems like the lamest command one human could give another, “Don’t forget to breathe.” We breathe on average 17,000+ times per day involuntarily. I have done it for over 40 years. That’s, . . . (I don't do math) a lot of breathing. I should be practiced by now. And yet. Every time our sweet yoga guide said it, I realized I was not breathing. So focused on the action I forgot to inhale and exhale. When I did breathe, my body relaxed. I sank deeper, and became more aware of everything I was doing. The places that were tight, needing more attention, spoke to me. Our instructor pointed out that the Jewish name for God-Yahweh-was meant to be breathed. It's the only consonants in the Hebrew alphabet not articulated with the lips and tongue. So as you breathe in and out, you can say the name of Yahweh. That is what we practiced. Yah-weh. Yah-weh. A way of breathing that reminds us who is with us and what He offers. It calls us to slow down, lean in, be aware that the very breath of God is in us. So, in the moments when life feels a little rushed, too overwhelming, too hard, I've been trying to practice this. We must remember to breathe. Don't forget . . . . . . when that guy in front of you is driving 40 in a 55 and there's no possibility of passing . . . Yah-weh . . . We breathe in patience, peace and the knowledge that we will get there eventually. Then we breathe out grace toward those who slow us down when we want to be fast. Don't forget . . .  . . . when we ask our children to do something and we can see the objections forming in their heads before they're even words . . . Yah-weh . . . We breathe in time to speak to the heart. Then we breathe out words that love and invite. Don't forget . . . . . . when one more person presents one more need for us to meet . . . Yah-weh . . . We breathe in the space we need to question if this yes is for us or not. Then we breathe out an honest, humble answer that offers the best for everyone. Don't forget . . . . . . when our best-laid plans fall to pieces . . . Yah-weh . . . We breathe in the grace we need. Then we breathe out a good laugh at the idea that we were ever in control in the first place. Don't forget . . . . . . when anxiety grips our hearts and warns us to step away from the brave paths God's calling us to take .…

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Ask God For the Pony

Every fall, kids make wish lists of all that they want for Christmas. When our kids were young, I feared Toys-R-Us. I was terrified they’d set their hearts on something huge we couldn’t afford. One year there was a giant toy pony that kids could actually ride. I think it cost $400. Ridiculous. Years ago, my friend’s son was celebrating his 4th birthday. Just before he blew out the candles, we said, “Make a wish, Luke.” Without skipping a beat, he took a breath and said, “I wish I could fly,” then blew. That’s how kids think. I want the pony. I want to fly. Somewhere along the way, we make our lists more reasonable. More practical. We stick to the budget. That’s good in some respects, but there’s an aspect of how kids ask that we aren’t meant to lose. What are children like? They are weak, needy, and unashamed. Boldly they bring their needs and make them known. They’re trusting. They don’t analyze whether or not the ask is too much or out of line-they’re just honest with desire. Faith that their parents will take care of them drives their asks. In the gospels, I see Jesus inviting this kind of boldness in our relationship with God. He's always asking people to come closer, calling out their desire, "What do you want me to do for you?" Jesus honors faith, even when it's just a desperate grab at his cloak. He makes space for children, calling us to be like them. We too are invited to come and ask. So why don't we? Why don't we go to God with all our hopes and dreams and wishes and ask big? The vulnerability of audacity Prayer is vulnerable. It’s a raw and scary prospect to bring all our desires before someone who could choose not to fulfill them in the way we hope. We are tempted to hedge our prayers and only ask for what we think he’s willing to do, what’s in the budget. We wonder if we're asking for the right things in the right ways so much that we end up asking for nothing at all. It's easier not to ask than to ask and be disappointed. But prayer is about so much more than getting what we want. It’s about drawing closer in trust to our father, letting him have our whole hearts, and in the process being shaped to his will. He can’t do that when we hold back. Be childlike I now try to be more childlike in my prayers. I go to God bare hearted, telling him everything I wish were true, everything I hope will happen, everything I want. Go honest, raw, angry, scared, confused, hopeful, searching. We don't have to censor ourselves, but instead, trust that he can see through our aching. As we do, he sorts out the aching. He is at work in these areas. Listen to him remind us of what's true. We will feel his delight. He pours out peace and comfort.…

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