The winter wall of lethargy is upon us all.
The negative degree weather each morning does not help matters. When I do reluctantly get up, propelled by the all too well known knowledge that I am one grumpy son of a gun if I do not get hot coffee, drank in silence, alone with God, before my four daughters stumble downstairs.
And when I do get up and have that coffee cupped in my hands, those scant pre-daughter minutes, I just sit.
I don’t want to unfurl out of my careful cocoon ball of quilt and pillow in my chair.
Don’t want to stop the flow of mug in hand, Starbucks down throat, long enough to grab pen and journal to list.
For that same reason I have not even been willing to leave my pocket to open my Bible.
However, these cloistered mornings of fighting cold in breaking light are not without merit.
For when I finally muster the strength of mind to stop the whir of random, daydream-y, and/or distracting thoughts and then purposely gauge brain and spirit toward heaven,
I’ve been praying: deep and hard.
Pressing in till I reach it: Heaven’s will.
The Spirit Himself interceding and speaking, so aware it is not just I, lobbing up requests and concerns to this mysterious God I was taught to pray to.
Rather, I enter into this “cord of strings”.
I remain tethered to Earth
God sits on His high throne, with His Abba ear bent low
and Jesus and The Holy Ghost relay as the harmonious Go-Between as only They can
I am part of it.
I am covered in it.
Standing in the gap, not because I can change the will of Heaven, having figured out the code to tap into the right power, but because Heaven’s will is that I, their daughter, have an invitation to labor along side.
The listing and counting of gifts, the reading and meditating of Scripture, is Holy participation too, and this I do. Some days all three, some days two out of three.
But sometimes the living room is still too cold, and that warm coffee is feeling like a magic elixir, and I stay cloistered and just pray.
Linking up with such beautiful ones at: Emily Wierenga’s blog pad for Imperfect Prose
this cold, but sunny, Wednesday morning.