Here I am, Lord

In prayer we try, as best we can, to gather up the fragments of our lives and offer them to God. It is not gold or frankincense we offer. It is shattered pottery. Not beautiful, but all we have. We say, here I am, Lord. My life, such as it is, I give to you. I really don't know what you would want with this mess. I think that if I were the Potter, I would have long ago swept all this aside and started over. But not You. That's not Your way. And it occurs to me now that such thoughts are just so much foolishness. As if the clay should say to the Potter, You're wasting Your time. You'll never restore this life to the perfection You had intended. It's too far gone. Give up. You've failed.

And I remember all at once the words, God never fails. This Potter is a master craftsmen. Nothing daunts Him. He will bring to perfect wholeness all that He has begun. The crafting is not over yet. So yes, Father, I do offer these shards and fragments, these broken pieces, to You. I offer them in faith. I know that You do not require more than this. And I know also that the vision with which You began Your mighty work of creation was so perfect, and so pleasing, and so desirable to You, that in order to bring it to pass You gave Your Son for it--for us--on the Cross.

I think the best way to start a prayer is to simply say, Lord, here I am. To offer ourselves. Not pure, not whole, not always with perfect intentions, not in strength but in weakness, not in wisdom but foolishness, not making any claim except our need. We need You, Lord. Come.

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Listening to: Nickel Creek: This Side.

It's great!