May Prayer Prompt

just doing my best to journey to that house on a hill

May Prayer Prompt: Can I step into the Love I’m so willing to share, so I can receive it myself?

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My husband and I went to a fancy pants gala a few weeks ago with an explicit rule that we would not participate in the silent auction. Naturally, we broke that rule. I’m sure it’s because we made that rule in the first place. What else were we expecting?

It was a painting called The Return of the Prodigal Son by an artist named Rembrandt. I first encountered the painting years ago through a book written by Henri Nouwen, titled The Return of the Prodigal Son: A Story of Homecoming. And the book wrecked me. My pen was the only thing slowing me down as I scribbled notes and underlined line after line (my sincerest apologies to those of you who find writing in books sacrilegious). There were parts that brought me to tears. Parts I prayed I would internalize and remember forever. And now, with a copy of the painting in our house, I decided to re-read the book. Not only to freshen up on the depths explored within the painting, but to do a personal check-in, too, to see my notes and my underlined paragraphs from a woman two births and a miscarriage ago. See where she was, where I am now.

I got to page 13 before the Lord stopped me. The words - not even underlined - pulled me into a huge internal pause.

“[the Father’s embrace] is the place that confronts me with the fact that truly accepting love, forgiveness, and healing is often much harder than giving it. It is the place beyond earning, deserving and rewarding. It is the place of surrender and complete trust.”

I am so willing to soften my heart for my children. To show them understanding in saying “accidents happen” and “that’s okay!” when they mess up and get mad at themselves (that’s what paper towels are for). I am so willing to show them deep depths of patience during meltdowns over sometimes who-knows-what-but-it’s-huge-to-them, I am so willing to be gentle with them.

I am so willing to soften my heart for my husband, too. Seeing he’s had a hard day at work and letting go of all the groveling I was planning on sharing when he got home, urging him to recharge his introverted heart each night post-bedtime, taking the time to just listen (gosh, the power of listening, it challenges me every day) instead of talking his ear off.

But where is that for myself? Where is the understanding, patience, gentleness? Friends, I don’t really see it, if I’m being honest. I am so good at being soft with others and incredibly hard on myself. Sometimes I feel like I’ve spent my forgiveness bucket on those around me and left nothing for myself, because I didn’t think it was important enough to do. Where’s the slowing down, willingness to be? How often do I deny myself these things that I so willingly give out, and then have I even considered that it’s more than something I want to offer myself like I offer it to my family, it’s things that the Lord wants to give me? So I’m not just denying myself, I’m denying Him?

I deny Love in the name of… lies. “I haven’t earned that.” “I haven’t done [fill in the blank] to offset that (time of rest) (moment of understanding) (forgiveness of transgression).” “I don’t need to.” “They need the softness of heart, don’t go looking at me!”

But none of those are actually true. And if a girlfriend said ANY of those things about herself, I simply wouldn’t let her. I would say it’s absurd she was thinking that way. So why is it just okay for me? Not in an I-deserve-this way that’s prideful… but in an I-deserve-this way that’s vulnerable. tender. soft. That’s allowing love to win over lies.

The real wrestle is: can I just surrender in trust to Him who made my heart? Daily. Not once, but every morning. A small, small offering before the sunrise kids knock something over or get into a squabble and wake the baby. “Lord, here is my heart. It’s open for you to soften.”

He knows just the way my heart is already, anyway. It’s not like I’m coming and He’s surprised. In no way do I appear as someone He doesn’t recognize, no matter what’s happened in my life. I cannot shock Him.

Can I step into the Love I’m so willing to share, so I can receive it myself? If I desire to show my children what it means to be beloved, I have to let myself be beloved. Be His beloved. Kids see everything. I know this. They hear it all. We know this, you and me. I don’t want them to sense just my words, I don’t want them to doubt the love of God because they haven’t seen it materialize in their home before. I want them to internalize Love played out within my own heart because I’ve taken the time to truly receive it. My story, my relationship with God matters for me, yes, absolutely, but it matters so much for them too.

I have decided my constant return is absolutely necessary. Not just for my salvation, but theirs, too. I think we (I) just have to find the strength and softness to fall back on our (my) knees. To become part of that story Jesus told his disciples. To become the prodigal. Over and over. Again and again. Back down, back down, back down.

A dying to self, really. All my lies. All my white knuckling. All my locked knees. To learn love from Love. To let it into my heart so that I can be changed. I want to be changed. Don’t you?

“I have to kneel before the Father, put my ear against His chest and listen, without interruption, to the heartbeat of God.” (pg 17)

My prayer for you, for all of us, is to find that rest. To search for it because it matters. To kneel, again. Or for the first time. To lean our heads in. To listen. To hear. To receive. To know more deeply the heartbeat of God.

xoxo

Sarah