Like a Miracle

A miracle:
“an effect or extraordinary event in the physical world that surpasses all known human or natural powers and is ascribed to a supernatural cause.”

There is much that looks impossible. Whether those impossibilities are longstanding or recent, they contain the stuff of futility. I look at them and I know I am powerless. And so I do the only thing I can do: I pray. Prayer, to whoever it is, is hope projected.

I pray for miracles and when I do, part of me expects a big event, my very own parting of the sea. I expect noise and action, an epiphany or a grand gesture, a watershed moment where nothing before looks like what is after.
I’m beginning to learn that miracles are miraculous not because of their size but because of their specificity. They aren’t these big events; they are, like my understanding of who God is, quiet. Miracles, when they do come, are more of a breath than a shout.

That isn’t to say they aren’t life-altering, merely that they are only recognizable to those who were looking for them. In that way, they are much like love.

Clandestine

There was this big stink this past weekend about someone stealing and publishing the prayer that Obama left at the western wall in Jerusalem, and all the news organizations then proceeded to publish it while condemning the theft.
Oh irony. You are so pretty.

Prayers are secrets; the whispers and language between a soul and a Great Hope. They are not something to be passed around and shared (unless you are Jabez, then I bet you are just straight pissed at that dude who made a ton of money off of you), a bit to be analyzed by masses.
I've been thinking about secrets lately, those things that adhere themselves to innermost walls and backs of tongues. Those things that never quite make it out; that can't navigate an exit.
Fact is, I loathe 'em. I loathe having them, I loathe when they destroy people. In most cases I see no good in secrets. I had a friend who quipped, "I hate clandestine organizations...unless I'm in them."

Not to say I want every little part of me to be known (I'm not THAT kind of blog owner) but so often I find that secrets do much to separate me from those that love me. But my exposing those secrets to light, I am released from shame, guilt, fear, rejection, judgement. I am freed. But my secrets, my prayers, are mine to be released not someone else's. They are mine.
Yours are yours.

That should be respected.

(This could be taken as if it's some sort of dig or warning to someone; it's totally not. I don't even have anyone with whom I'd have this conversation. Unless you want to start a clandestine organization with me, then lets chat.)

Sweetness

I feel like there is a lot going on that I don't feel like blogging about, and thus my blog scuttles around talking about everything else. It's keeping itself busy, much the same as me. My biggest prayer recently has been for wisdom--not the kind to spread pearls to others, but the wisdom to know the right choices to make and the guts to do them. The wisdom to know trust and worth in Christ, no matter the circumstances. That's been the biggest thing this summer: living in that assurance and experiencing the peace there. Hard to explain but it is sweet. Life is sweet, isn't it? No matter what is going on or how hard it can be, there really is a sweetness to it all. I don't know what is up with all the life metaphors lately and for that I apologize, but there is much to pick through and the skills to do it are being developed on the fly.