My Scattered Mind
October 14, 2006
I'm going to let you into a part of my mind that few people experience. I'm usually a pretty together person. I balance a lot of projects at work, and though my desk is usually full of folders and papers, I know where everything is. I can hold my own in a meeting, and I can even sound intelligent when carrying on a conversation.
But when I pray, my brain mysteriously turns to mush. A typical prayer goes something like this:
Dear God, thank you for...crap, I forgot to pick up milk at the grocery store. Do I have a coupon for milk? Does Kroger do double coupons every day, or just...shoot...Sorry God. Lord, please...wow, my pedicure is still looking good. I got it a whole week ago, right after...man, I did it again. Um, God, sorry. I'll try better next time.
And so it goes. And here I am, on a prayer retreat, and just moments ago I was given the task of spending the next three hours in prayer. I've been fasting for the past day, and already my brain feels sluggish. Here I sit, fingers numb, hunched down next to a pine tree, and my mind feels as fragmented as ever. Even sitting here alone, no other person in sight, my mind is disjointed. The sound of dogs barking in the distance steals my attention. Stray dogs attract my mind more than my Savior.
So I pulled out my journal and my Bible, hoping I can reign my mind in somehow. As I read the Psalms, I am comforted by David's conflicts...how his cries of despair are echoed so quickly by declarations of thanksgiving.
So as the dogs bark and the wind pushes a pine cone against my knee, I sit alone and compose my own psalms.
My mind is scattered, Lord.
My prayers to you interrupted by voices in my mind.
They are loud voices, like the barking of a dog,
They fight for my attention,
But in the end, they say nothing.
Quiet them, Father.
Steal the noise and bring your peace.
Take the scattered sounds
And make them one united voice
A voice of praise to you.
I want to desire you, Lord.
I long for you to fill these empty parts of my heart.
I want to hunger for you as a man who fasts,
I want to thirst for you as one in the desert,
I want to yearn for you as an orphan yearns for a family.
How long will I fast before I let you feed me?
How long will I thirst before I take the water you offer?
How long will I live as an orphan before I return to the Father?
Take away my stubbornness and replace it with perseverance.
Open my eyes to your creation,
My soul to your salvation,
And my ears to your voice.
I'm going to let you into a part of my mind that few people experience. I'm usually a pretty together person. I balance a lot of projects at work, and though my desk is usually full of folders and papers, I know where everything is. I can hold my own in a meeting, and I can even sound intelligent when carrying on a conversation.
But when I pray, my brain mysteriously turns to mush. A typical prayer goes something like this:
Dear God, thank you for...crap, I forgot to pick up milk at the grocery store. Do I have a coupon for milk? Does Kroger do double coupons every day, or just...shoot...Sorry God. Lord, please...wow, my pedicure is still looking good. I got it a whole week ago, right after...man, I did it again. Um, God, sorry. I'll try better next time.
And so it goes. And here I am, on a prayer retreat, and just moments ago I was given the task of spending the next three hours in prayer. I've been fasting for the past day, and already my brain feels sluggish. Here I sit, fingers numb, hunched down next to a pine tree, and my mind feels as fragmented as ever. Even sitting here alone, no other person in sight, my mind is disjointed. The sound of dogs barking in the distance steals my attention. Stray dogs attract my mind more than my Savior.
So I pulled out my journal and my Bible, hoping I can reign my mind in somehow. As I read the Psalms, I am comforted by David's conflicts...how his cries of despair are echoed so quickly by declarations of thanksgiving.
So as the dogs bark and the wind pushes a pine cone against my knee, I sit alone and compose my own psalms.
My mind is scattered, Lord.
My prayers to you interrupted by voices in my mind.
They are loud voices, like the barking of a dog,
They fight for my attention,
But in the end, they say nothing.
Quiet them, Father.
Steal the noise and bring your peace.
Take the scattered sounds
And make them one united voice
A voice of praise to you.
I want to desire you, Lord.
I long for you to fill these empty parts of my heart.
I want to hunger for you as a man who fasts,
I want to thirst for you as one in the desert,
I want to yearn for you as an orphan yearns for a family.
How long will I fast before I let you feed me?
How long will I thirst before I take the water you offer?
How long will I live as an orphan before I return to the Father?
Take away my stubbornness and replace it with perseverance.
Open my eyes to your creation,
My soul to your salvation,
And my ears to your voice.
posted by Brandy at 10/31/2006 08:49:00 PM
3 Comments:
Great thoughts, Brandy. And eerily familiar... :)
As usual Brandy, well said.
Beautiful! Beautiful! Sometimes I wonder how different my life would be if I wasn't so full of myself and too stubborn to listen to God. It's also very cool that you have a comment from AP. I'm jealous! :)
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