It is early morning; I stop at the kitchen, drink two large glasses of water, put several pieces of wood on the embers of last night’s fire, and then settle down in my chair for a time of devotion. It is a strange ritual, really. The world is still in slumber; even the birds are yet silent. In the distance, I hear the faint crow of a rooster. “Must be on Daylight Saving Time,” I muse.

But I am here to meet with God. Over the years, I have concluded that it really doesn’t matter what rituals or forms I use or what books I start with; it is all a part of waiting at the gates of heaven for an audience with my Creator.

Prayer speaks to our deepest needs, joys, and fears. There is a delicate divine mechanism at work here that I cannot describe. A process from heaven that I cannot explain.

The busy day lies in waiting, things to be done, people to meet, and a thousand different wheels all turning to move life along the path of productivity to some unsearchable accomplishment. Yet I sit in quietness, waiting, listening, attentive to the echo from the throne, a whisper from the heart of God, a sense of the presence of the Spirit of God within me.

It is in the quietness of those moments that conversation begins to flow from within my soul, and slowly, attentively, I pour out my heart to God. The burdens of my spirit, the sorrow that crushes me, the perplexity of relationships, all flow out together. Then there are my own inadequacies, my sense of sorrow for things done in haste or left undone. Regret comes in as a groan rather than a song, confession is always difficult yet cleansing and always ends in gratitude. The song is restored with overwhelming joy. “Why me, God? How is it that You could call one like me?”

listening

Finally, the natural flow of the heart moves toward listening. “I am finished, Lord. If there is anything You would like to tell me, I am now open.” Waiting for a response from God should receive at least equal time to all other conversations with God. Now, while there is silence in the soul, He speaks to your heart.

Sometimes I feel only a sense of peace: that He hears, He receives, He understands, and He loves. At other times, I sense that the High Priest of our souls has received my feeble attempt at worship, and my prayer is heard, accepted, and answered in His name.

So in the end, the river of my audience with God rushes over narrow chasms, tumbles over rocks, ebbs and flows, swirls and eddies, until finally it comes to rest in the deep waters of peace.

Here is the great mystery. Our prayers are feeble, and the outreaching of our hearts is inarticulate, even selfish. Yet the miracle of conversation with God is that the Holy Spirit understands the intent of our hearts. Romans 8:26, 27 says that “with groanings which cannot be uttered,” He makes intercession for us “according to the will of God.”¹ The Spirit takes our halting prayers and shapes them into something beautiful. What a promise!

Oh, the amazing miracle of that hour with God. An hour of waiting transforms the day into one of anticipation, as we wait upon God to carry us through the storms of life, safe in the palm of His hand.

“Submission to the divine will

is the softest pillow on which

to recline.”

“It filled the room, and it filled

my life,

With the glory of source unseen;

It made me calm in the midst of

strife,

And in winter my heart was green.

And the birds of promise sang on

the tree

When the storm was breaking on

land and sea.”²