Pilgrimage to prayer.
People stooped, low, carrying burdens that are tied tightly to their backs…
People joyously walking a dirt path, dragging their junk along behind…
People wandering through the dark hallways, looking for a soft places to kneel…
People groping for pew edge after pew edge, making their way to the front alter…
Before I really knew God, I prayed. I prayed that children’s prayer etched onto a pretty little decorative plate that hung on my bedroom wall. I prayed for help, from a tumultuous teenager heart heading along twisted paths. I prayed for safety when I was frightened or worried. I prayed the Lord’s Prayer at mealtimes with my childhood friend and her family, after she taught it to me and we practiced it in her bedroom.
Now that I know God, I mean now that He lives in my heart and I seek His will for my life, I still pray. Of course I do. When I feel chaotic and in the need for focus, it is from a scripted book of prayers that I sometimes read and plead, morning and night.
Mostly though, my pilgrimage of prayer starts upon rising in the morning. At each meal, heads bow, hands clasp, and thanks are given. Throughout the day, doing the blessed mundane, my heart utters and sometimes sputters prayers. When lights are off and covers are on, my face is down and my heart is given up.
Then there are the times I have conversational prayers with my Lord, especially in the midst of chaos…like I did last winter with my son.
God knows what I am going to say (or type) before I actually do it. He knows the pleas of my heart when I cannot even find the words — and only the groaning and moaning make their way from my lips.
Prayer is something I get to do. Yeah! Like a baseball player finding the sweet spot as the bat cracks against the leather of the pitched ball, God gives us each a sweet spot. On our knees. On our face. On our feet. While folding laundry. While doing chores. While sudsing in the tub. He gifts us each day with times, places, occasions, celebrations, desperations, and reasons to pray.
Whether you stoop low, carrying burdens that are tied tightly to your back; or joyously walk a dirt path, dragging your junk along behind; or wander through the dark hallways, looking for a soft place to kneel; or grope for pew edge after pew edge, making your way to the front alter…your pilgrimage is yours. It is your path to God.
Find your sweet spot. Hit one outta the park!
He is ready to catch it.
To catch you.
Won’t you join gentle Ann as she leads us along a path of Wednesday walkings with Him?