In the Long Run

I ran two miles today, I think for the first time ever.

After about a mile of running/talking to God, I thought:

"I'm almost half-way done, and I still have a lot more to say. I'm gonna need to run a lot farther if I want to say everything I want to say, because at the end, I still want time to listen."

That's motivation.

Summer Fruit

Welcome to the first day of summer, the longest day of the year.

It's a welcome sight, really. Spring is through, which makes me think we'll have consistently hot weather. Last year, Summer seemed to miss Chicago. Honestly, I didn't mind. Who really wants 90+ degree weather all the time, anyway? Not me.

I spent the first waking hour of summer in my new favorite place: the patio of our apartment. From there I see the sun rise and fall, water glisten, storms roll in and through. My favorite sight lives nestled in the corner, a mother bird sitting atop her eggs. She keeps them warm, keeps them safe. Rarely do I notice her absent; it's never long.

My reading this morning made me consider this bringing forth of new life with my mind, and also my heart.

The good things of life take time to mature. Eggs, fruit, babies, all of these take a time of preparation. For the leaves, spring prepares and summer blossoms. For eggs, the same. Babies come whenever they want. There's generally no baby season. (Though I hear it's around September. Apparently most seeds are planted on Wednesday. Conditions are perfect.)

For anything worth sowing, worth reaping, the ground is worth tilling. Whatever is supposed to grow needs to be tended to. Eggs, fruit and babies, all.

What about things of the human spirit?

Many seeds are planted
Deep within men's souls
Some are weeds of character
No one wants to pull
Some are seeds of anger
Watered by jealous rain

When they are uprooted
Love grows in their place

The human heart is a garden. It has everything needed to bring life. However, when unattended, the soil becomes hard, cracked, unable to spring forth life.

Maybe the Holy Spirit is a gardener. The more often we allow the gardener through our gates, and the longer he remains, the more cabable we will be of producing good fruit.

Love, joy, peace, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control.

Like an apple tree, these don't come overnight. They take years of cultivation, attention and love, pruning and binding. I've tried my hand at growing these, but I find I lack the experience. I need to be brought along, taught the art from someone who knows.

I think I'll trust the gardener.

Prayer Asthma

I wrote this up for my church's blog today. Enjoy!

If praying is like breathing, I have prayer asthma.

Sometimes I breathe just fine. I can stretch out my arms, open my mouth wide, and breathe in the goodness of the world. But sometimes, in certain seasons, I'm coughing, weezing, gasping.

Can you relate?

I've been gasping lately. In fact, several people I know have. Not only gasping for breath because of the unusually high pollen this season. But also for God's presence, because of the unusually high busyness of life.

It seems that prayer asthma is impartial. You can be a pastor, layperson, worship leader, college student, seasoned or newly initiated Christian. It doesn't really matter. Prayer asthma is also caused by several roots. Maybe you've never learned how to pray. Or, maybe you've been taught prayer over and over and over again, and now you're frustrated thinking, "Will I ever get this right?"

It's discouraging, eh? I know it is for me. But are you and me the only ones that have this issue? Is there any hope to draw in fresh breath freely, instead of weezing?

Take heart.

There is hope.

It's comforting to hear these words, "Lord, teach us how to pray." (Lk 11:1) The disciples, like many of us, saw a man of prayer and figured, "Hey, maybe he can help my prayer asthma. I'm strugglin here."

I was encouraged this past week at Pastor Sam's home, when about a half-dozen of us confessed that we have prayer asthma. We gathered together to be taught about prayer, to be encouraged in ways to pray, and most importantly, to spend time in prayer. That gathering was a deep breath from an inhaler, opening up the blocked passages, reminding me what it feels like to breathe.

I think the most important thing I learned that night is that we, like the disciples, shouldn't be embarrassed if we don't know how to pray. Those following Christ, 2,000 years ago or today, can still humbly ask that question, one alongside the other: "Teach us how to pray."

We'll be continuing this group for the next three weeks. If you think you might have prayer asthma, come on out.

I know I'm breathing easier.

Sometimes you feel like a nut...

My daily experience with prayer is a lot like my daily experience with music.

By "daily experience" I am referring to my level of interest, motivation and/or commitment at any given moment. One day I could feel compelled to write music for 2 hours out of nowhere. Or I could be compelled to pray for a while about Sri Lanka or someone next door. Or I would rather sit in silence and not play guitar. Or do whatever and not have prayer on the top of my to-do list.

So I ask myself: Is the desire to pray a psychological phenomenon, like a desire for music? Is it simply a chain of synapses firing (or misfiring) in order to make me feel some spiritual connection?

For a rational like me, this is not an uncommon type of question. I am doubtful of many phenomenological experiences because, to some degree, I value empirical methods. I like to be able to see and touch and taste and feel what it is I am experiencing, if at all possible.

This obviously translates into greater questions like, "Is God real, or am I set up for belief in him because of my upbringing?" It's a good question to ask. Really, it is.

I have read more and more writing by atheists and agnostics, and they are always kind, never pushy. They often argue for understanding, which I greatly respect. I am also seeking greater understanding, from in- and outside of my own faith perspective.

While I don't have answers for all questions of atheists, agnostics, and other folk who don't believe in Jesus as God's revelation of himself, they don't have all the answers for me, either. So, stalemate.

Looking back to psychological phenomenons, I have to think that there is more going on in my life than sparks and wires crossing in my brain developing a faith that I can't fully explain. And the best I can do is point back to experiences where I have perceived something distinctly "other" pushing or pulling me into one direction or another for a task or moment that I could not have anticipated. These are the "ebenezers" that mark my faith journey, and that have brought me to here and now.

So, what about an in-and-out desire to pray? If we desire a home that isn't in this world (as C.S. Lewis might say), why isn't prayer an every-moment experience?

It's because there is no distinction between spiritual and "secular" activity. One minute I may want to play guitar. Another, pray. Maybe raise my hands in worship, take a nap, eat a bagel or meditate on the Psalms. It is all a part of life.

Feeling one way one moment and one way the next about prayer doesn't make a person less spiritual or faithful.

It just makes one normal.