Home in My Heart

What follows are two letters to God written last Saturday and Sunday...

Dear Father (Feb 25, 2017 #14),

I've got so many things on my mind and heart. Confession*, writing, money, healing, doctrine, health, reading, time, prayer, work, career, taxes, social groups, evangelizing, teaching, inner child, family, friends, fitting in.

I haven't cried in a while. I know I need to. I also haven't had a good belly-laugh. Wouldn't hurt. I know I need to eat right and exercise. Most of all I need to stop, drop and pray.

Love, Dwight


Dear Reader: I did stop, drop and pray that morning. The fellowship with the Father was exactly what my soul needed; it was refreshing. I was worried about many things, like Martha, instead of focusing on the One thing that mattered most, like Mary (Luke 10:38:42).

* By confession, I merely mean that I acknowledge what He already knows. He is just and right to forgive me and cleanse me from all unrighteousness (1 John 1:9).

Dear Father (Feb 26, 2017 #15),

I prayed and do pray. Let me not hesitate to stop, drop and pray ever again. I love You so much, Lord.

Please come make your home in my heart (John 14:23). Work in me, both to will and to work for Your good pleasure (Philippians 2:13). I know You love me, Father. For You did not hesitate to offer Your own Son as a sacrifice (Romans 8:32) so I could be reconciled to You (2 Corinthians 5:18-19). Nor did You hold back Your own Spirit so I could know You deeply (1 Corinthians 2:11-12).

Much Love, Dwight


Dear Reader: I hope the Scripture references in the letter above are not a distraction. Rather, I hope you can read the letter for what it is, but also look up those references and meditate on the context therein. These are God's thoughts I have in mind when writing these things.

I pray you also are transformed by the renewing of your mind (Romans 12:2) and sanctified by His word (John 17:17). Remember, God rewards those who diligently seek Him (Hebrews 11:6).

My Private Prayer - An Introduction

Dear Father,

The power of Your love can save souls. The power of Your grace can transform lives. I will mediate on Your love so that my cup overflows. I will be transformed by the renewal of my mind through the study of Your word, which is the truth about who I am, whose I am, and why I'm here. Through the partnership of Your grace and my humility, with the power of Your Spirit within me, may I walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which I have been called.

Love,
Dwight

Prayer journal entry May 4th and 8th (above), 2015.

I write my early morning prayers freehand, slowly and carefully. Tediously is a better descriptor. Not that I want to. It's that I suffer from 'Essential Tremor'. I think that's what it is. Nothing else seems to fit how I would describe my symptoms, which just collectively celebrated their 11th birthday. Whoopee!

I know not why it started, nor do I know how to stop it. My hand is fine when I use it to text, drive, and drink. (Gotcha!) Yes, of course, at different times. But when I write freehand, which I prefer over typing actually, I steady the forefinger and thumb of my right hand with a firm grasp of the same digits on the left.

The resulting penmanship looks pretty neat, if I don't say so myself. The pace rots, not rocks, however, at a grueling two pages per hour, estimated to be a similar rate at which cavemen chiseled environmental observations on stones ("Buffalo antelope on plain. Grunt.").

So if it's so difficult, so tedious, why do I do it? When I write freehand, I stir the words in my head and, as much as I can, my heart, like Campbell's Alphabet Soup that's too hot. Doesn't seem like much, does it. Thinking in writing is what I'd like to think I'm doing.

I noticed I think differently when I type. I like how my thoughts are less random, less trying to impress, and more concerned about what's authentic, what's moving in the moment to me. I guess I'll get used to this keyboarding stuff. I'll have to; I want to share my thoughts with you, if you'll let me.

Looking back at that prayer from May 8, 2015, I'd change a few things. For example, the ultimate thrust of "all truth" in Scripture is all about His eternal plan for the church. Not who I am and whose I am, although that's part of it. Kind of the wrong perspective, that's all. Let my focus ever be on Him!

Look a little closer and I hope you'll see my references to Scriptures dancing in my head, singing to my heart. Some of the obvious ones are the cup overflowing from Psalm 23. An abundance of meditation passages are found throughout Psalms, such as Psalm 119. Being transformed by the renewal of my mind is from one my favorite verses, Romans 12:2. The study of His word is my reference to verses like 2 Timothy 2:15 and Hebrews 4:12. The manner of my walk takes me back to Ephesians 4.

I love it all, truly I do. If only this world wasn't so darn distracting, difficult, and tedious, like my 'Essential Tremor'.

Praise for my God!!

My God, my God, why have you loved me so? 
Why are you so close to me, listening to my every cry and whisper?

O my God, I pray to you by day, and you answer, and by night, and I find rest in your arms.
You are holy, Lord, enthroned on high, I continually praise you in my heart.

I've learned to trust in you, and you delivered me.
I cried to you and I was rescued; in you I trusted and I was not put to shame.

You've made your home in my heart; my help is in no other.
I delight in you, and you give me the desires of my heart.
And the desires of my heart have become to delight in you.

My soul is precious in your sight. You delight with singing over me.
My cup overflows. You have given me new life, a new heart.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.

Would Anyone Care?

My heart pounds inside my chest, sending extra blood to my furious legs, racing through unfamiliar streets of dirt and grime.  I think my body must be redirecting its blood flow to give speed to my escape because my head is so light with fear as cold sweat continues to dampen the back of my neck.  They’re going to kill me, and I don’t want to die!  Fear and despair combine their dark forces in my soul as I seek to wipe the blur of endless tears from my line of vision.  Yet, I have no idea where I’m running.

“Please, God, just let it be away from those who tortured me and burned me.”

I’m fooling myself.  There is no escape.  I only succeeded in enraging them more by tearing off into the night.  Just as plainly as I ran out, so did hope.  I’m alone, hated without a cause, despised, spit upon, slapped, punched, kicked, raped, burned, and yet kept barely alive for them to continue another day.  Oh, how I wish for eternity that another day would never come!  Oh, how foolish I am to wish anything!

I’m tired.  I’ve been running as if the devil himself was grasping at my heels every step of the way.  And I’m drained.  The breaths of my sobs have left my lungs almost as desperate as I am.  Water for my tears has gone arid.  Fresh wounds trickle warm blood down my face and thighs.

“What’s the use?” I whisper to myself, “If they’re going to kill me, would it just be better to take my own life?”

I’ve never thought a thought like that before.  Would anyone care?  Would anyone notice?  Would anyone even…

Just then, I noticed I’m not alone.  Someone had seen me running, or rather, falling forward, sobbing.  I give up.  If this is God’s will for me, so be it.  I’m too tired to fight.  I just hope I lose consciousness, quickly, so as not to cringe in pain.  I grow faint, collapsing among the gravel stones, then do faint.

As it happened, that “someone,” who had seen me running, was like my guardian angel; a ministry worker who already saw more cruelty and death up close than the average civilian on the edge of a war zone; a ministry worker overflowing with the love of Christ, endangering her own life, because she sought the welfare of another, me;  one who, with joy, uttered loud thanks to God because this child escaped alive.

Hours later, I awaken to odd sensations; I am clean, I am warm, and I am on something soft.  My wounds are freshly bandaged.  I am wrapped in warm softness.  I slowly draw a full breath of clean air, and sigh.  My ‘guardian angel’ smiles at me signaling the rest of my life’s journey will be different.  Someone cares.

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Would anyone care?  Wellspring International does.

A Letter to the Lord

In the morning, I usually write my prayers out. Sometimes my prayer is specific, sometimes it's general, and sometimes it's both. I always capitalize words and pronouns that refer to God or Jesus, such as You; my personal preference. (The 'circumstances' to which I refer in this prayer are improved personal finances and church experience.) Here's a small prayer I'd like to share.

Dear Father God,
It is no secret to You that I have longed and prayed and hoped for different circumstances. Your ears are full of my supplications and pleas. Yet, where are the sounds of my gratitude? In everything and for everyone in my life let me be truly thankful. Let me be filled with the Holy Spirit. May I walk in the light and fellowship of Jesus Christ always.
Love,
Dwight

Although this letter / prayer is small, I mean it with all my heart. I will periodically share more, but I wanted to include this so that my readers would know from other posts that I am not without a definite Christian essence. I realize some of my posts seem quite secular and even a little dark. But, above all, I hope to be real here. After all, these are my revelations for life. Life goes on; I struggle, I grow, I change, and hopefully, I mature. God bless you, reader!!