heart cries

On Wednesday nights, when the message has been taught and we're all full and satisfied, we close our Bibles, arrange ourselves in circles, and turn our gaze from the Word to the Writer.

Within my own group of seven or eight, I try, at first, to not hear the voices in all the other circles. Because I have a hard time keeping my eyes closed during prayer (is it only me who feels closer to my Creator when I study the hands and feet and faces of His artwork?) I stare at the shoes lining our circle, and sneak surreptitious peeks at their owners. But soon the voices in the room begin to overlap and harmonize. I stop fighting the sound. Instead, I let it in, and I envision those ascending chords rising through the ceiling of this building. I've read that God draws in the fragrance of our prayers like a delightful perfume, and so treasures them that He keeps them in a special bowl. So although I can't see our prayers, I know the mingled sounds rise and swell and swirl together en route to the throne room.

    Lord, remember my brother-in-law on the mission field ...
                 ... and she’s only four, Father. Please touch her body ...
            My neighbor, Joe, is going to Korea after being in Iraq ...
                Lord, I want to lift up my workplace ...
        We want to see Your kingdom ...
         ... and so I thank You for providing ...
                 ...and be with the persecuted Church in other countries ...
         We pray for our president ...
                         ... that You would desire to dwell here ...
                                ... the continued presence of Your Spirit ...
        Please give us what we need to respond to You ...
              I want to pray for my dad ...
                                I'm grateful, Father ...


And I think in awe of the God who is everywhere enough to hear it all—-who bends his ear to pick up the sigh of a heart, and stores the memory of His child’s murmur.