Confessions of the Gilded Prayer- Part 1

There in the corner lay the prayer journal, its pages crumpled and slightly askew from its airborne journey across the room. Yet, as if to mock me, the binding was still intact, no, even stronger maybe than before I had hurled it in my complete frustration. An appropriate symbolic message, of course, that I too would receive strength, even as I felt my own journey spiraling out of control.

As comforting as that might seem, I wasn’t interested in receiving strength right then. I was tired of being strong, tired of being thought of as the strong one. Tired period. My emotions were drained, my body weakened from restless sleep. My days seemed to be spent dealing with endless chaos interrupted only by periodic crisis. I wanted to quit. I would have, too, but my spirit wouldn’t let me. My spirit wasn’t in the same shape as the rest of me. Of course my spirit was strong.

Even though the journal itself bore the brunt of my turmoil, it was my relationship with God that was going though the trial. Yes, I was holding court in my own soul and was charging the Creator of the universe with first-degree disappointment. Oh, I couldn’t charge Him with unfaithfulness. I had the proof of His unfailing goodwill toward me well documented (even though it lay in a heap in the corner!) Disappointment, however, was clearly something I could prove beyond a shadow of a doubt!

I reached out to pick up the mangled chronicle of my life’s journey and sorted through my feelings as I smoothed the pages back into place. I had learned early in my walk with God to keep a record of my prayers as well as journal the experience of how His Word was becoming real in my life. It was truly an amazing account of inspiration and revelation. Very often I would re-read and remember with transforming clarity the redeeming power of Almighty God.

Many of the pages were stained with tears. The letters themselves often smudged and hurried as though they were literally pouring out of a broken heart. Some of the entries were harsh and angry. These were usually long and bewildered ramblings of times when I was confused and hurt by circumstances I could neither control nor understand. It was often in these very entries that my prayer would be most earnest. This was the place where my inability to comprehend or control would be released to the One who could.