You are currently browsing the monthly archive for July, 2008.
When we pray, we pray in one of two ways and these ways are set apart by the very subtle difference in our placement of the word “but”.
I think the purpose of prayer (as I mentioned in my last post) is primarily for surrender. Something is really really really important to us, but we surrender it into the hands of the One who is in charge, Sovereign of the Universe (that would be God), and that requires us to surrender our will. We have these plans and desires in mind, but through prayer, we trust God’s plans. I think that in prayer, God wants us to tell him what we want (Matthew 7:9-11, for example), but we need to be willing to submit to God’s will. And that is where the placement of “but” is so important.
We pray in one of two ways:
- “Lord, your will be done, but…”; or
- “… but, Lord, your will be done.”
As you can see, both phrases contain the same words, the same letters and almost the same order. However, the first example is a self-focused example; the second is a God-focused example. In the first prayer, we say something like, “Lord, I just pray that your will would be done, but, please let me get this new job.” There is nothing inherently wrong with this, the problem is with underlying meaning.
To tangent a little before we return, let’s look at the second example. This second kind is the kind of prayer that Jesus prayed. In Gethsemane, before he was crucified, Jesus spent the night in passionate prayer. And in verse 42, we see exactly this second prayer. “Lord, if it is possible, please take this cup from me. Yet not my will, but yours be done.”
And these are the important elements in prayer: my will, God’s will, and whose will I consider to be more important. See, the problem with the first kind of prayer is that we say, “Yes God, of course, your will be done, unless your will isn’t going along with mine.” The whole implication of that sample prayer is that I will be completely happy with God’s will as long as I get the job. “May your will be done, God, unless it interferes with mine.” This, I think, is the kind of prayer we utter most often as Christians. We have plans for our own life, desires, wishes, hopes, dreams, and we say, “God, please have your way in my life, as long as you don’t mess up my plans. Have your way in my life, unless you intend to take away this one thing I desire most, or this thing that I’ve worked so hard to achieve.” We say that God can have everything he wants, unless he decides to take something that is really important to us. The problem with that is that we are very much children when it comes to this kind of thing. We see an object that strikes our fancy and so we capture it and hold it for as long as the beauty remains. But because we don’t understand the beauty and tend to want to capture it (as children do), we tend to ruin it more than appreciate it. We see a bubble floating by and we reach out to touch it, but it pops. We spy a butterfly and cup it between our fingers, but then we touch its wings and it cannot fly. We hold a frog in a jar where it cannot get water, and a grasshopper in a container where it cannot get food. A flower is beautiful growing in the grass, but even more so in our hands; yet when we cut it, it dies.
Imagine, though, this beauty when we release it, when we let God have control. God sees the bubble floating by and holds out a wand to catch it then hands the wand to us. Perhaps we cannot touch the bubble, but we still get to hold and admire it. The butterfly floats lazily by, and God beckons it to his finger. Then he holds his finger towards us, and the butterfly crawls onto our arms. It tickles, and we are mesmerized by the colour, but we listen to him and don’t touch its wings. Maybe now it will fly away eventually, but it will stay as long as God wants it to. And even if it flies away, our memory will be of the vivid, colour-filled life on our arms, not the wasted beauty in our hands. The frog God builds a pond for, the grasshopper, a garden. The flower grows tall and vibrant in the bed God cultivates for it. And none of these tasks does he keep us from. He gives us an active hand in all of them, provided we are willing to protect the beauty of it, to sacrifice our own pleasure for the sake of that which is under our care.
But our sacrifice is nothing compared to Jesus’. His prayer is the one we ought to echo. Tired and beaten down, well aware of what he was to face the next day, Jesus prayed. “Please God,” he prayed, “take this task away from me. If it is possible, please let this pass from me. But, not my will, but yours be done.” And that is the critical order. “Here God,” we say in this instance. “Here are all of my hopes, dreams, cares and concerns, loves, trials, difficulties, joys, achievements, awards, talents, abilities, friends, family, etc. This is what I desire, this is what I care about most, this is what I am concerned about, but God, regardless of what I think or want, may your will be done in all of this.” This is the harder prayer to pray. It is so easy to tell God we will trust him as long as he does whatever we want him to. It is so much harder to trust him knowing full well that he could completely upset our carefully laid plans in a moment.
The humbling factor and the comfort in that knowledge, though, is that God’s plans are always better than ours. It is painful to have this one thing you’ve prized so highly taken away from you, but it is humbling when God begins to show you all of the reasons he took it away. And it is a comfort to see, even if only in the shadows, how God is working in the absence of this prize.
God is the centre, God is in control. And he always knows what he’s doing (and does it so much better than we ever could), even when it doesn’t feel like it. God’s got it covered, kids. Never forget that.
May His will, not ours, be done.
I know that not everyone who reads this blog is a Christian. But for those who are, in your prayers tonight, think of the Owens family and others struggling in the same way they are. Obviously I don’t know what this little guy and his family are going through, but they could use the prayer. Obviously God has been with them so far, and obviously God will continue to be. I don’t know what God’s plans are, but I read something really interesting awhile ago. An old friend once wrote that prayer was for us to surrender, to surrender whatever it was we were concerned about into God’s hands, to trust Him with it. I would say that is what is important. To trust God with Gavin and his family and to offer them our support through prayer. Even though they probably won’t know about it 
Secret prayer warriors… I like it 
Alright, here’s for some audience participation. I am in process of building my music collection through iTunes. I have had suggestions from exactly 1 person as far as what songs I should consider adding. Granted, I made the request through Twitter, and apparently no one reads my Twitter page except for this one person *dramatic huff*. So I would like two things.
Thing 1: Sign up for Twitter! It’s loads of fun
Thing 2: What songs should I add to my music collection?
Now, I’m not talking about the latest fads. I’m talking about classics, songs that have stood the test of time
on your list of favourites, songs you think I would enjoy and should be in possession of. I twittered before (see how much you’re missing by not following me on Twitter?) about this here. The shuffle function on the iPod really only works proportionately to the variety of songs that you have.
So let’s hear it for variety!
(from coming soon)
(names have been changed )
“Have you guys seen Joseph anywhere?”
So began an evening of suspense and fear. We were up at our friend John’s cottage. Ben, Joseph, Sara, Mark and I were the group that had planned to stay for the weekend. By the time John asked the above question, it had probably been a good half hour since anyone had seen Joseph. The property was large, but not expansive, and there was only a border of trees separating it from the neighbouring cottages. Night had just fallen and we were huddled around a bonfire beside the lake. John had a large flashlight with him, and Sara and I were chatting in Muskoka chairs, wrapped in fleecy sweaters and blankets.
“I hope he’s okay,” Sara whispered to me. She was the last person to have seen him. It was right after supper. She and I had volunteered to wash the dishes. She had stepped outside to collect some miscellaneous plates or her bathing suit—something in the direction of the little cabin towards the road that the boys were staying in. With a shriek, she had come flying back into the kitchen.
“I saw Joseph walking to the cabin,” she said breathlessly. “When I turned around to come back inside the cottage, I heard him scream, and when I looked back, I couldn’t see him anywhere!”
I couldn’t help but smile. The boys had been trying to scare us since the night before. Mark had perfected the art of sneaking up behind us in the dark, while John or Joseph would look past us, a vaguely horrified look on their faces. When we would turn to see what they were staring at, Mark would suddenly jump towards us, usually producing shrieks, followed by an exasperated, “Guys! Cut it out!”
“It’s okay, Sara,” I said. “The guys are just trying to scare us. They’ve been doing this since last night.”
She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “Okay, you’re right. It’s fine. He’s going to make fun of me so bad for screaming.”
We laughed, finished the dishes and went outside to start the bonfire.
But now the group was getting uneasy. Joseph had been gone for awhile. Sara, John and I had swept up and down the property, from the road to the lake, and Ben and Mark had gone to look in the cabin. John couldn’t stay seated. He took his flashlight and kept walking back and forth along the edge of the property, sweeping his beam across the darker parts of the treeline.
“He looks really worried,” Sara whispered. “What if it wasn’t a trick?”
And the what-ifs began to play out. What if something had happened to Joseph? What if there was someone else on the property. Or, more realistically, what if he had hurt himself somewhere?
I stood to go walk with John as he paced back and forth across the treeline. Sara joined us.
“You doing okay?” I asked. “You seem worried.”
“Yea,” John said, distractedly. “It’s just… been awhile since we’ve seen him. I hope he’s okay.” His flashlight beam continued sweeping the trees.
“Stop!” Sara cried suddenly. John stopped the flashlight and slowly shone the light where Sara was pointing. It highlighted in the trees, strewn across a log and nestled among the leaves, a motionless figure.
“Oh my gosh…”
At that moment, Ben and Mark hurried from inside the cottage.
“Over here!” John yelled.
We hurried over to the figure. It was Joseph.
“Guys, hurry!” John said. “I think he’s hurt!”
Sure enough, he wasn’t moving. His eyes were half-open, a glazed over look in them. He moaned softly.
And suddenly all the dots connected. Maybe he was trying to scare us, at first. But then, while he was trying to hide, he must have fallen and hurt himself. What if that was the scream Sara had heard? And if he screamed loud enough to send Sara running back in fear, then, he must really be hurt. My first instinct was, Flee. The rest of the boys were there; they could handle it. They had no need for us to be there. They would handle it. Flee, flee!
Whether Sara’s thoughts were going in the same direction as mine or not, we both ran back to the cottage, breathless, startling the adults.
“What is it?” John’s mom asked. “What’s wrong?”
Still unable to accept that something must be – most certainly was – wrong, I echoed my words from earlier that evening. “It’s okay. The boys are just pulling a prank on us.”
“They must be,” Sara said, when John’s mom returned to the other adults. “It has to be a prank.”
Reassured by each others’ words, we opened the cottage door and stepped back out into the night, in time to see the boys carrying Joseph from the trees to the cottage.
Our words while we were inside the cottage now seemed hollow and untrue. Is this actually happening? He must really be hurt…
Then suddenly, unceremoniously, John dropped Joseph’s legs. And the other boys followed suit. And Joseph was on his feet, clearly not suffering any kind of injury.
Disbelief overwhelmed.
“Are you— ? Did you— ? This was a joke?” were our incredibly incoherent, and rather uncomprehending cries.
“Jerks!” But I couldn’t help the smile that crossed my face. One, Joseph was fine, meaning all was right in the world again, and two… all frustration aside… it was a pretty good prank…
“You knew about this all along?” I demanded of John, as he gave an apologetic, but amused hug (yes, hugs can be apologetic. And amused. It is a very difficult thing to ask of them, and they often struggle to accomplish it, but this was one of those times of success).
“Yea,” John said. “That’s why I was walking by the trees. It took Joseph so long to get to that spot! Man, I was waiting for ages!”
“And you guys, too?”
Mark and Ben nodded, laughing.
Exasperation, made light by relief, was all that Sara and I could feel.
“You just wait,” I said, after expressions of disbelief, floods of apologies for the fright, and all the details of the prank were traded. “One of these days, we’re going to get you back so bad!”
To this day, that debt remains outstanding, but that, ladies and gentlemen, is the infamous prank that caused me, years later, to momentarily doubt the testimony of an injured child.
And boys, one of these days, Sara and I just might get back in contact with each other and then? Watch out!
Because I have a lot of friends who are married or who soon will be, an answer to the question why.
I follow a lot of blogs. All of them amuse, interest and, in most cases , educate me. They make me think and on many occasions, I have wanted to share what I’ve read, but it doesn’t always happen. Either I forget, or I have something else in mind I want to blog about. I also don’t want the total number of posts I write about other blogs to exceed the number of original posts I have .
This blog isn’t one that I follow all that closely, but I subscribed to it, mostly because of the way Hayden Tompkins, the author, uses language. So while I don’t follow this blog closely, there are some posts that just reach out and grab me. Like the one I linked to above.
Obviously, I don’t necessarily agree with or subscribe to all of what is written in the article, but I think that some wonderful points are made. It is certainly worth reading and considering what the application for your own life might be (single or married, because, after all, the call to love is a universal one, not just reserved for those doe-eyed, soon-to-be-married or already-there types).
Tell me what you think! Or drop a line over at Persistent Illusion. Actually, no, no “or”. It has to be “and”. If you leave a comment there, then you should be thinking, “And I’ll leave one at Faith, Hope and Love as well, because I know how much Tara wants to read what I have to say.”
So, my disclaimers first. I had not the time nor the resources to touch these up the way they deserved. Also, I am not the photo expert that my dad is. I was just playing. My primary purpose is to make all my friends jealous and to surreptitiously (or perhaps not so much ) hint at how gorgeous a town it is, and you know, try and convince ya’ll to move up there .
The view outside our hotel window
A house downtown
Another house
Keep in mind, this isn’t some of the architecture in Kingston, this is most of the architecture in the downtown area.
Some construction workers
So I was standing taking pictures looking into the park and all I heard from behind me was “hey! hey, over here!” It took me a second to clue in that someone was shouting at me. When I looked back, this construction worker at the top of the ladder was all smiles, his hands thrown dramatically over his head. “Over here!”
So I took a picture (click for a larger view)
A building on the Queen's University campus
Looking up at an old church
A different view of the church
Don’t you love it? Come live here! Or at least come visit
Dr. Gary Draper was an excellent professor of mine. From what I understand, this past was his last year before retirement. This is what one student had to say about him:
Dr Draper has a one of a kind personality and truly enjoys what he is teaching. It is up to the students if they want to join him in his wonderful world of english or not. He is a hard marker which makes one really feel as if they are earning something in university. Awesome sense of humour and helpful to the fullest.
I’ve always loved writing. From the time I was old enough to hold a pen, I wrote, even before I could form letters. I’ve been telling stories on paper for as long as I could remember, and all of my old notebooks (when they don’t contain the silly “Dear Diary” scribbles of young girls) hold short stories and story ideas. I have easily an entire box of writing on paper, and a lot more in electronic form, but this professor was the first “outsider” (someone who wasn’t family or a close friend) who recognized me as a writer.
The very first class I walked into in my first term of my first year of University was his, and I still remember his opening speech. He walked up to the board and wrote “PLEASURE” in big letters across it, and then turned to us saying that this was why he wanted us to read. Not to analyze it, not to glean some truth from the text (although he hoped we would be able to do that, too). His primary goal in what we were reading was that we would enjoy it. It was a breath of fresh air, because that, after all, is why writers write. There are many who write to make a point, and who have all sorts of hidden messages and meanings, but primarily, writers write to put words to their emotions, and bring enjoyment to their audiences. As an avid reader and an even more avid writer, hearing these sentiments expressed by this professor assured me that it was going to be an excellent term.
I went on to take two more classes from him, and I enjoyed all three, even the Canadian literature class (coming eventually ), and most of the material we covered. And through his courses, I became a better writer, mostly because he came to expect it of me. I didn’t even realize that he did. I just remember speaking up in class, which I had never done before. His classes were often discussion style. He would take our opinions and ideas and pursue them further, pushing us, seeing what we could come up with. He seemed to learn almost as much as we did in a term, and his appreciation for our contributions encouraged me to contribute more.
The next year, I went to speak with him about a scholarship writing contest. It took him a moment to recall who I was. He asked my name and what class I took with him, and immediately recognition came.
“That’s right!” he exclaimed. “Yes, I certainly do remember you. It’s funny, as soon as I saw you, my first thought was ’she’s a writer’.”
He recognized the distinctness of my narrative voice, and in an assignment where we were given creative license to choose our own topic, I attempted to rewrite the ending of a narrative poem we were studying. He complimented my efforts, but said he had hoped to see more of an adoption of the original author’s tone. I spoke with him after class, and said that I had tried. I complained that I had found it very difficult to silence my own voice.
He said, “Yes, I can understand that. You have a very strong narrative voice.”
High compliments for a writer.
Anyway, the long and short of this post is to say that Gary Draper was an excellent professor; I haven’t spoken with anyone who didn’t enjoy a class with him, and I would highly recommend attending any lecture he might give in the future.
“It’s my body, I’ll do with it what I want,” is, I think, an inherently flawed way of thinking.
In a society that is so focused on personal rights and freedoms, we forget about the responsibilities that go along with them. The truth is, all of our rights are gifts. It is a gift that we live in a country that actually has a charter of rights and freedoms. It is a gift that we are able to live our lives as we please. But every gift we are given comes with some responsibility.
If we are given a car, for example, it usually becomes our responsibility to pay for insurance or gas, or at the very least, to keep the car in good condition and out of an accident. Our bodies are no different.
No matter what you believe, whether you believe in a Creator or not, having a body is a gift. Having a way to interact with the environment around us in whatever capacity, whether our bodies are crippled or broken or in some way impaired, is a gift. I don’t think that we can safely say it is our right to have a body. Because if it is a right, then we all deserve to have a body with the same abilities and without any limitations. But we know there are situations that are unfair in what we have been given (I save responding to this for another post). So I think that having a body is a gift, and if it is a gift, then we need to treat our bodies with respect.
This is why I struggle with the issue of abortion. The ability to create and carry life is a gift, one that needs to be used and carried forth responsibly. I’m not talking about situations where rape or the safety of the mother are involved. Those are situations beyond the mother’s control, and I’m not sure where I stand on them. But when it comes to exercising the “right” to sexual expression, and as often follows, the right to create and carry life, it is a gift. And it comes with responsibilities. The problem is, we want all of the rights without any of the responsibilities. We want to be able to do what we want, when we want to, without having to deal with any of the mess that might come out of it. But whether we want to deal with the “mess” or not, we still have to. Even choosing an abortion doesn’t erase the “mess”. I would imagine it makes it more difficult. A miscarriage is a heartbreaking situation for anyone, so I cannot imagine that a purposeful miscarriage (an abortion) would be any different.
To branch away from abortion to the more general topic of responsibility, I think that being presented with a difficult situation, but taking responsibility for our actions is really what makes us grow. In watching kids, that is when I begin to see maturity, when they can look at a situation and declare, “here is where I was wrong, I’m sorry, how can I make things better?” and then watch as they seek to make amends, and to avoid making the same mistake in the future. By never having to take responsibility for our actions as adults, we stay in a perpetual state of tension between our maturity when it comes to being responsible for life essentials, like paying for food, home, car, school, etc., but immaturity when it comes to our “rights”.
And then to return to abortion, I cannot imagine how difficult a situation it must be if a person is considering an abortion. I empathize, and my heart breaks for all of it: for the situation, for the mother, for the father, for friends and family of the parents, and for the child that has yet to be born. It is a difficult situation and I understand the desperation. But I think, not even just in this, but in all the areas of our lives, we need to start learning to balance our rights with the responsibilities that go along with them.
Recent Comments