I confessed on October 27 that my devotional life was almost non-existent. Then I told you why I have a hard time talking to Jesus on November 13. In this post, when I say "devotional life," I mean "time spent alone with Jesus."
Now that I've been pretty consistent for a few weeks, I've learned a few things.
In the past, I started devotional books, Bible study books, journals, prayer lists, etc. with the purpose of daily spending time alone with Jesus. I didn't have experience to rely on, so I gung-ho leaped into my new devotional life. Within a few days I always lost interest, and then spent a while feeling guilty every day and coming up with excuses. After a while I would conclude that I didn't need to do devotions - after all, I'm still a Christian. I would say, "God doesn't want me to force myself to talk to him."
I was doing a few things wrong. First, I was treating Jesus as a chore, not a friend. When you haven't talked to a friend in a few years, you don't immediately jump into the deep stuff. You catch up, ask questions, and "re-learn" the other person. As you chat you remember that the other person is trustworthy and loving from your past experience. You remember that the person helped you through some difficult times. It takes some time to restore the relationship to the place it was before. That's why it felt awkward when I approached Jesus with deep gut prayers and yearnings: not because he was distant and not because he wasn't listening, but because I had distanced myself from him. It makes sense to me that I would need a "warm up" time where I remember what it's like to have Jesus as a friend.
I have a theory: that when we approach God as a chore, he thwarts our efforts. I think maybe this is why I tried so hard to do devotions because it was a "good" thing and I always failed. Of course God wants his children to come to him, but when we say "God is love" we mean he prizes relationship based on love. He doesn't want us to feel obligated to talk to him, just like my mom doesn't want me to feel obligated to call her. She wants me to call her, but she doesn't want me to see it as a chore.
I need to add that God doesn't thwart our efforts because he is offended or because he only wants pure devotion, since he knows we're sinners and we'll never have completely pure motives. I think he does it for our own good, so we won't be disillusioned into thinking we have to do something good to win God's favor. This seems like a far-out theory so I might be wrong of course. Just a thought.
Journaling
I have started dozens of journals. I always write the date at the top of the page, using a specific pen. I indent the first line, and I use neat handwriting. Sometimes I don't write on the backside of the page, but move on to the next. When I am done with my entry, I start a new one on the following page. When I was younger I even numbered all the pages of my journal.
If I screwed up - wrote the date in the wrong format, used the wrong pen, got excited and used poor penmanship, misspelled words, didn't indent my paragraphs, accidentally wrote on the back of the page, skipped a page number - I would tear everything out of the journal and throw it away. And I wouldn't journal again for months. This is a primary example of why Christians avoid legalism: because if we have a bunch of rules to follow, we'll break them, and then be so discouraged we won't want to try to keep them at all!
My journal now has some pages where I have written such large letters in my excitement that they take up two or more of the scored lines. It has some pages of very small and neat font. Sometimes I forget to put the date. Sometimes I talk to myself. Sometimes I talk to God. When I talk to God, sometimes I say "Amen" at the end and sometimes I don't. Sometimes I preface my prayers with "Dear Heavenly Father" and sometimes I just start talking and know that he knows it's a prayer.
In my new journal, I can't fail. I can be angry or sad or excited or burdened. I can write large or small or sideways, or draw a picture or skip a page or jump from topic to topic without segue.
Prayer
This is how I used to pray:
"Dear Lord, thank you for [things I am thankful for]. Please forgive my sins, [this and this]. Help my friends, [name and name]. And help me to [do this.] In Jesus' name, Amen."
This is the equivalent of an email to my best friend that says,
"Dear best friend, thank you for being so nice to me. Sorry I haven't written in a while. Could you please send me some money? Thanks, bye."
It's clear why I thought that was the way to pray: we are taught that (and rightly, I think), as children, just to get us in the habit. Just like a child begins writing letters with a formula:
"Dear Auntie, How are you? I am fine. Thank you for the sweater. I hope to see you soon. Love, your niece."
My point is: formulaic prayers have a purpose: to teach us to pray, just like the Lord's Prayer which Jesus taught his disciples to pray. But I am no longer a child. I can talk to God like an adult.
The other day I woke up with a paralyzing fear as I imagined the day ahead of me. I had errands to run and appointments to keep, and I hadn't vacuumed the house in a week and the kitchen had dirty dishes piled in the sink. I thought through my morning: Go downstairs (walking on the cat litter tracked throughout the carpet), make coffee (which I have to grind even though there's no room on the counter for the grinder), make Joe a sandwich (if the bread isn't moldy yet). No wonder I started panicking! I curled up in a ball and hid under the covers and thought, at what point can I say I'm so anxious I have to stay in bed all day?
Then I just said, "Help." Not out loud, because Joe was sleeping. I may have whispered it; I just remember every part of my mind seemed to be saying it at once. Here's what I would have said before:
"Dear Jesus, I am feeling overwhelmed right now. I made a mistake yesterday when I chose to watch TV instead of cleaning the house. Even though I don't deserve it, please give me peace right now. Amen."
There's nothing wrong with this prayer - in fact, it's very mature. It's mature to say what I'm feeling, to acknowledge my mistake, to humble myself by asking for grace anyway.
But I don't think God always wants mature. When he says he wants us to be like little children, maybe sometimes that means falling into his arms and just sobbing incoherently. Kids can't always articulate what they need help with, or why. How many times have I told a frustrated child yelling UNH, UNH to "use her words?"
So what I'm really learning is that God wants to be my friend. Not a friend like a high-above, lofty, advice-giving friend. A friend like my human friends that I can call, sobbing, any time of the night, one that will just let me cry instead of making me talk through it, one that is completely trustworthy.
Now that I've been pretty consistent for a few weeks, I've learned a few things.
In the past, I started devotional books, Bible study books, journals, prayer lists, etc. with the purpose of daily spending time alone with Jesus. I didn't have experience to rely on, so I gung-ho leaped into my new devotional life. Within a few days I always lost interest, and then spent a while feeling guilty every day and coming up with excuses. After a while I would conclude that I didn't need to do devotions - after all, I'm still a Christian. I would say, "God doesn't want me to force myself to talk to him."
I was doing a few things wrong. First, I was treating Jesus as a chore, not a friend. When you haven't talked to a friend in a few years, you don't immediately jump into the deep stuff. You catch up, ask questions, and "re-learn" the other person. As you chat you remember that the other person is trustworthy and loving from your past experience. You remember that the person helped you through some difficult times. It takes some time to restore the relationship to the place it was before. That's why it felt awkward when I approached Jesus with deep gut prayers and yearnings: not because he was distant and not because he wasn't listening, but because I had distanced myself from him. It makes sense to me that I would need a "warm up" time where I remember what it's like to have Jesus as a friend.
I have a theory: that when we approach God as a chore, he thwarts our efforts. I think maybe this is why I tried so hard to do devotions because it was a "good" thing and I always failed. Of course God wants his children to come to him, but when we say "God is love" we mean he prizes relationship based on love. He doesn't want us to feel obligated to talk to him, just like my mom doesn't want me to feel obligated to call her. She wants me to call her, but she doesn't want me to see it as a chore.
I need to add that God doesn't thwart our efforts because he is offended or because he only wants pure devotion, since he knows we're sinners and we'll never have completely pure motives. I think he does it for our own good, so we won't be disillusioned into thinking we have to do something good to win God's favor. This seems like a far-out theory so I might be wrong of course. Just a thought.
Journaling
I have started dozens of journals. I always write the date at the top of the page, using a specific pen. I indent the first line, and I use neat handwriting. Sometimes I don't write on the backside of the page, but move on to the next. When I am done with my entry, I start a new one on the following page. When I was younger I even numbered all the pages of my journal.
If I screwed up - wrote the date in the wrong format, used the wrong pen, got excited and used poor penmanship, misspelled words, didn't indent my paragraphs, accidentally wrote on the back of the page, skipped a page number - I would tear everything out of the journal and throw it away. And I wouldn't journal again for months. This is a primary example of why Christians avoid legalism: because if we have a bunch of rules to follow, we'll break them, and then be so discouraged we won't want to try to keep them at all!
My journal now has some pages where I have written such large letters in my excitement that they take up two or more of the scored lines. It has some pages of very small and neat font. Sometimes I forget to put the date. Sometimes I talk to myself. Sometimes I talk to God. When I talk to God, sometimes I say "Amen" at the end and sometimes I don't. Sometimes I preface my prayers with "Dear Heavenly Father" and sometimes I just start talking and know that he knows it's a prayer.
In my new journal, I can't fail. I can be angry or sad or excited or burdened. I can write large or small or sideways, or draw a picture or skip a page or jump from topic to topic without segue.
Prayer
This is how I used to pray:
"Dear Lord, thank you for [things I am thankful for]. Please forgive my sins, [this and this]. Help my friends, [name and name]. And help me to [do this.] In Jesus' name, Amen."
This is the equivalent of an email to my best friend that says,
"Dear best friend, thank you for being so nice to me. Sorry I haven't written in a while. Could you please send me some money? Thanks, bye."
It's clear why I thought that was the way to pray: we are taught that (and rightly, I think), as children, just to get us in the habit. Just like a child begins writing letters with a formula:
"Dear Auntie, How are you? I am fine. Thank you for the sweater. I hope to see you soon. Love, your niece."
My point is: formulaic prayers have a purpose: to teach us to pray, just like the Lord's Prayer which Jesus taught his disciples to pray. But I am no longer a child. I can talk to God like an adult.
The other day I woke up with a paralyzing fear as I imagined the day ahead of me. I had errands to run and appointments to keep, and I hadn't vacuumed the house in a week and the kitchen had dirty dishes piled in the sink. I thought through my morning: Go downstairs (walking on the cat litter tracked throughout the carpet), make coffee (which I have to grind even though there's no room on the counter for the grinder), make Joe a sandwich (if the bread isn't moldy yet). No wonder I started panicking! I curled up in a ball and hid under the covers and thought, at what point can I say I'm so anxious I have to stay in bed all day?
Then I just said, "Help." Not out loud, because Joe was sleeping. I may have whispered it; I just remember every part of my mind seemed to be saying it at once. Here's what I would have said before:
"Dear Jesus, I am feeling overwhelmed right now. I made a mistake yesterday when I chose to watch TV instead of cleaning the house. Even though I don't deserve it, please give me peace right now. Amen."
There's nothing wrong with this prayer - in fact, it's very mature. It's mature to say what I'm feeling, to acknowledge my mistake, to humble myself by asking for grace anyway.
But I don't think God always wants mature. When he says he wants us to be like little children, maybe sometimes that means falling into his arms and just sobbing incoherently. Kids can't always articulate what they need help with, or why. How many times have I told a frustrated child yelling UNH, UNH to "use her words?"
So what I'm really learning is that God wants to be my friend. Not a friend like a high-above, lofty, advice-giving friend. A friend like my human friends that I can call, sobbing, any time of the night, one that will just let me cry instead of making me talk through it, one that is completely trustworthy.
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