I am a woman deeply troubled; . . . I have been pouring out my soul before the LORD.
Hannah is a barren woman, who feels deep shame and bitterness about that. She goes to the temple and prays deeply, and we hear, weeps bitterly. She bargains with God that if God gives her a child, she will dedicate it to the temple. She does bear a son, Samuel, and he is dedicated to the temple. He is called by God in the middle of the night, and mistakes the voice for Eli, the temple priest. ‘Samuel, Samuel’. After waking Eli up several times to inquire about Eli’s calling, Eli suggests that it’s a call from God, and instead of waking Eli up, Samuel should respond, “Speak Lord, for your servant is listening”. Ah, to have a clear call from God that calls me by name! Speak Lord, for your servant is listening. Of late, I’m very drawn to God’s call to us, and whether we hear or respond. I love Samuel’s call story.
And today, my interest is more piqued by Hannah’s prayer, and her absolute freedom to express what she wants, as well as her anger. True, she’s in despair. But she also displays a trust in and familiarity with God to be able to expose those raw, vulnerable emotions.
I can remember two times in my life where I cried out to God, one time with tear streaked face I asked for help. My son, now in his third year at Harvard Law, was in the process of flaming out of high school, dropping out without completing his sophomore year. I’ve heard it said that a parent can only be as happy as their most unhappy child. At that time, he was my most unhappy child, unable to bring himself to school and absolutely confused as to why. His choices, as I saw them, were to enter university 2 years early, go to a boarding school or drop out. I remember expressing my deep despair and frustration to God, and I can remember exactly where I was.
The second time was the evening we discovered our daughter had totaled our volvo station wagon in an underage DUI, and was spending the night in jail. At the time, I worked for the police department, so I was notified of the accident, and able to find out more details about her from my boss the chief. But as I laid in bed, I remember the fear, frustration, confusion, anger, and my petition to God.
Those were pretty extreme moments of worry, and the only times I recall having that soul-bearing conversation and petition with God. In my faith tradition, we have opportunities for petitioning God on behalf of others, for confessing our sins, for giving thanks, in every time we gather. The words are printed in a book, and they’re so familiar I don’t need to look. Sometimes, this is spectacular for my over-thinking head, because the words keep my mind busy enough that prayers are formed behind the words.
And sometimes the words are so familiar, I say them while I’m thinking about my grocery list.
What if I were able to really really mean the words. Comfort and heal all those who suffer in body, mind, or spirit; give them courage and hope in their troubles. What if I prayed these words with that same desperate sense? Could I bring that level of awareness to my petitions to God?
This morning, I’m thinking about how to better connect the words we say, and the deep emotions and needs we have as we pray. I don’t think that connection would make me prayers more effective, or heard, or genuine to God. But I think it might help me.
And today, my interest is more piqued by Hannah’s prayer, and her absolute freedom to express what she wants, as well as her anger. True, she’s in despair. But she also displays a trust in and familiarity with God to be able to expose those raw, vulnerable emotions.
I can remember two times in my life where I cried out to God, one time with tear streaked face I asked for help. My son, now in his third year at Harvard Law, was in the process of flaming out of high school, dropping out without completing his sophomore year. I’ve heard it said that a parent can only be as happy as their most unhappy child. At that time, he was my most unhappy child, unable to bring himself to school and absolutely confused as to why. His choices, as I saw them, were to enter university 2 years early, go to a boarding school or drop out. I remember expressing my deep despair and frustration to God, and I can remember exactly where I was.
The second time was the evening we discovered our daughter had totaled our volvo station wagon in an underage DUI, and was spending the night in jail. At the time, I worked for the police department, so I was notified of the accident, and able to find out more details about her from my boss the chief. But as I laid in bed, I remember the fear, frustration, confusion, anger, and my petition to God.
Those were pretty extreme moments of worry, and the only times I recall having that soul-bearing conversation and petition with God. In my faith tradition, we have opportunities for petitioning God on behalf of others, for confessing our sins, for giving thanks, in every time we gather. The words are printed in a book, and they’re so familiar I don’t need to look. Sometimes, this is spectacular for my over-thinking head, because the words keep my mind busy enough that prayers are formed behind the words.
And sometimes the words are so familiar, I say them while I’m thinking about my grocery list.
What if I were able to really really mean the words. Comfort and heal all those who suffer in body, mind, or spirit; give them courage and hope in their troubles. What if I prayed these words with that same desperate sense? Could I bring that level of awareness to my petitions to God?
This morning, I’m thinking about how to better connect the words we say, and the deep emotions and needs we have as we pray. I don’t think that connection would make me prayers more effective, or heard, or genuine to God. But I think it might help me.
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