This morning I find myself spiritually blunt - as blunt as the big knife we got on our wedding day – it was once the sharpest knife. Now I avoid it in the drawer. Dulled, once perfectly honed - I am struggling to hear the Spirit. Somewhere between i-phones and emails, television and my car radio, I stopped listening and now it is becoming more difficult. Help me father to hear your voice. Psalms and Epistles they read alike, flat as if all phrases were equal, all sentences the same. My Spirit has ceased ascribing value to words. The Ketchup packet reads like Tolstoy. The info-mercial the same as the Sermon on the Mount. Lord - deliver me from this fog – this waking sleep where all is obscured and meaningless. Lord I confess, my sin has dulled my ears, my eyes and most of all my imagination. Spirit have mercy. Christ have mercy. Father have mercy on me a sinner without imagination. A sinner who forgets that in every hour, in every minute, in the time it takes to scramble an egg or start my car, there is the possibility of the infinite to speak into the finite and move in power. Father forgive me for following other Gods – lust and power, influence and impact, relevance and novelty. Oh Lord, correct me through the prayer you taught us to pray that I might begin to see the world correctly again, myself correctly again, my neighbor correctly again and that in doing so I might see you again. Because my world is too small, petty, fragmented and lonely. Help me get past me so that I might love and be loved, that I might have passion again. Help my days not be consumed with consuming. Help my thoughts dwell somewhere outside of a store, a product, a way of buying myself to betterment. Set my eyes aloft oh God and restore a right spirit within me that I might see you in the desert where all things are at my fingertips and where nothing grasps me. Open my heart to your Kingdom come and your will be done because my Kingdom and will are too feeble. Have mercy.
This is the Writer's Prayer.
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