Sometimes I feel like I’m lost, Lord.  I can’t seem to see where I’m going for all the distractions around me.  I head one direction, thinking that’s where you want me to go, only to find it gets me nowhere.  I turn around and try again with the same result.  I feel like I’m stuck and making no progress at all.  Even at those moments when I see an opening and move in that direction, I am immediately bumped and jostled until I become disoriented again.

I am aware that I am but one in billions of people on this earth.  Most of us are so busy going to and fro that we probably look like mindless carnival toys to you.  We turn and bump, float and bob, sit and stare.  In the end I wonder what we accomplish.  We seem to go in endless circles.

Usually when this happens to me, Lord, I’m so busy looking for a path in front of me that I fail to look up.  If I looked up, I would see your light.  If I looked up at you, I would always have a point of reference, something to move toward.  Today, help me to not get swallowed up by the bumping and confusion of life.  Rather, help me focus on you, look in your face, and find hope.  Amen.

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Sometimes, Lord, I feel like I can do anything.  I believe there is no mountain too big to defeat me.  I believe that no matter how steep or how high that mountain is, I can climb it with ease.  I believe these things because I know you are my God, and you are capable of anything.  I know deep down that I can’t possibly overcome such a mountain by myself.  With you, however, nothing is impossible.  The obstacle I face seems like nothing, like an ant hill.  In those moments I live in great faith and step with confidence.

So why is it, Lord, that the very next day that same mountain seems insurmountable, overwhelming, impossible?  Why am I defeated by even the smallest step?  I look at what is before me and faint with doubt.  I anticipate the hard work that lies ahead.  I grow weary before I even begin.  It’s as if I have lost all confidence in your ability to support me, encourage me, and work miracles of strength within me. 

Forgive me, Jesus, for my lack of faith.  Help me to recapture the assurance that you are able to do all things.  At the same time help me to look at each footfall as a step of faith.  To climb a mountain requires thousands of steps, each one an act of faith.  Remind me that true faith is a never ending series of steps rather than a single bound. 

You have carved the path out before me and laid the stepping stones.  Help me to not be overwhelmed when I look up at what is to come.  Rather, help me to focus on the next step and trust that you will take care of the rest.  Amen.

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Lord, you are a magnificent God.  God of grace.  God of blessing and wonder.  You heard my cry, my petition of concern.  You did not turn a deaf ear, but smiled upon my request.  When I finally, prayed with the smallest mustard seed of faith, you grew my tree overnight as if it were a magic seed like that of Jack’s Beanstalk.

I have been praying much the same prayer for several years with so few results.  Then when I finally place it all in your hands and truly believe that you are on your throne and that you will care for the needs, you responded.  From dawn to dusk, your love never wavers.  You see what is happening in the lives of those I pray for.  You understand their anguish and you respond with great love.

Thank you for such obvious responses that I cannot do anything but understand that you have heard my prayer and intervened in acts of great compassion.  Forgive me when I pray without faith.  Remind me often of your miracles and your gracious hand.  Praise be to God.  Amen.

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I rushed about yesterday, Lord, failing to see the landscape around me.  I knew it would happen.  I even talked about it with you in the morning.  I had things to do that I knew would be frustrating and time consuming.  I talked with you about my need for calm and contentment, the need to guard against irritation and anger.  Yet it happened anyway.  As the day progressed I felt swept into the stream of life.  I watched it happen as if I were not part of it, as if I had no control over it.

As I descended into the current, life became a blur.  I became so focused on the moment, the danger before me, and my collision with others that I missed the scenery along the bank.  My vision became murky.  My temperament became frothy.  The beauty of the landscape I passed through can never be recovered.  I can’t go back and redo those miles.

At the end of the day, Lord, I had accomplished little.  I had not checked off all my list of To Do’s.  Worse, however, I had done nothing to show love or encouragement.  I had done nothing to grow in patience or trust.  Those things I thought so important I realize now were not so.  My life goes on if I don’t accomplish all the tasks I set out to accomplish.  However, if I don’t learn patience, contentment, trust, and love then my life will continue to be filled with frothy, blurred days that I regret. 

When I finally calmed myself and slowed down I could see the danger I had been in.  I could once again see the world around me.  My own character, thankfully, became clear and pure.  Forgive me, Lord, for placing the tasks of my day before the character of love you are trying to stir in me.  Amen.

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Sadness weighs upon me until I can no longer hold my head up, Lord.  I bow and weep.  I feel defeat and want very much to to retreat.  I want to stop the fighting and run from my troubles.  I fantasize sometimes about starting all over somewhere else where there will be no problems.  At other times I wish I could go back and change decisions that took me down a path I never anticipated.  Why am I so good at second-guessing and so lousy at first chances?

Sometimes, God, the defeat I feel has little to do with the circumstances I find myself in, no matter how difficult those circumstances might be.  Instead, the defeat comes from the additional burden I place on myself through worry and anxiety.  I anticipate the worse.  I imagine scenarios that make me so angry I want to lash out, pull back my spear and thrust at  the ghosts that do not really exist.

I know that defeat has and will come in my life.  I have ridden through the dry valleys of death.  I have experienced humility and grieved over loss.  They will come again.  These things are not mine alone, however.  I understand that such experiences are one of the common factors that binds me to all of humanity and to Jesus who suffered on my behalf.  What I struggle with is a lack of faith that you ride with me through these moments of fear.  I forget that you never abandon me and that I can hold my head up high with the confidence that defeat is nothing.

When I persevere with you at my side I gain hope.  Hope leads to faith and faith leads to joy.  Tonight, Lord, my faith is weak so I ask for the will to persevere.  I ask that you take away my sorrow and replace it with satisfaction in knowing I am your child despite the circumstances I may experience.  Remind me of your promise to be with me from now through eternity.  Amen.

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It is easy to sit by the road and watch the traffic go by, Lord.  Parked under a nice shade tree, I have a good view of the mountain to my south.  I can see the sun rising and setting and watch the busyness of the world along the highway.  I parked here initially for a rest.  One day turned into a week, a week to a month.  And now I’ve lost track of the years.  Grass tickles my underbelly and my tires sag.  I’ve changed colors over the years–paler with rust stripes where the rain channels over me.  I think I’m stuck here, Lord.

I used to be so busy–going and coming, hauling and pulling.  I had so much to offer.  I felt the wind in my face, the anticipation of the next rise, the strength of my engine surging within me.  I was doing too much, though.  So much that I lost track of you and forgot what I was designed for.  I wore myself out serving, but realize now I wasn’t always doing what you wanted me to do.   

God, it seems I want to live in extremes.  Either I’m going 60 miles per hour all day without time to rest and think.  Or I’m sitting along the side line, unproductive and useless.  I wish I could understand how to live my Christian life in better balance.  I want to serve you, Lord.  But I don’t want to get so caught up in the rush of church life, meetings, and repetitive behavior that I get worn out.  Neither do I want to sit here on the side of the road rusting out. 

I want you to use what I am and what I have to offer in ways that allow me to stay focused on your purposes.  I want to slow down, but I do want to keep moving and serving.  I offer to you what remains.  It’s not much, I know.  Show me what I can do and make me content to serve faithfully, continually, and with purpose.  Amen.

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I’m a friend of Cleopas, Jesus.  At least I would have been had I lived in Jerusalem.  The day of your resurrection I walk with him and another friend a few miles down the road to Jericho.  I’m perplexed at the news.  Alive!  The women say he is alive!  Who do they take me for?  I’m no fool.  I saw him hanging on the cross on Friday.  I saw the ripped skin, the thorns deep in his head.  I saw the guard thrust the spear into his side.  Alive?  Ha.  It’s all too perplexing to me. 

Then a man joined us on the road.  We had much to talk about and were more than happy to fill him in on the events of the day.  He must have been living in a hole somewhere.  I do that a lot, Lord–talk a lot, speculate about the nature of God, make up theories about God’s intent, wonder about the possibilities of God.  I’m never bashful about sharing my opinions.  True, usually, they are just that–opinions.  They have no foundation.  I reason out of the mind but am clueless when it comes to spiritual matters.  It all seems Greek to me (or maybe I should say, it all seems Chinese to me).

The man along the road, however, didn’t seem nearly as worked up as we were.  He had that calm assurance about him I wish I had.  He spoke with a wisdom that seemed to be clearly in touch with spiritual reality.  He talked about God’s plan, about the purpose of Jesus.  I wish, Lord, I understood that plan.  I wish I could see the world from the eyes of God, to catch a glimpse of spiritual matters that seem to elude me.

All too late, Jesus, we realized our fellow traveler was you.  It came as a flash of insight when you broke the bread.  You allowed me that glimpse of understanding that I crave.  You helped me see truth.  Jesus is alive.  Jesus did rise from the dead.  Intellectually (which is how I try to understand God), resurrection not possible.  But I’ve come to understand that spiritual truth comes only from God; it comes only in moments of grace when you open my eyes to a different reality than I live every day. 

Grant me more glimpses of the risen Jesus.  Teach me truths only you possess.  Amen.

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The day after your crucifixion, Lord, the scriptures are silent. 

A day of sabbath, disciples retreated to their homes and locked their doors.

Stunned.  Waiting.  Grieving.  Silent.

So, I, too, offer my silence this day.

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Jesus, the prayer you prayed on Good Friday that came to my mind first this morning was your cry of abandonment, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”  I thought of this one perhaps because I, too, have felt abandoned at times in my life.  Then, however, I reread the account of your crucifixion in Luke and rediscovered two other prayers you prayed that day.

First, as they nailed you to the cross and divided up your clothes you prayed, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do.”  I am moved by your ability to forgive even those who do you harm.  Truly you are a forgiving God.  Truly you are a God of mercy and grace.  How many times do I wrong you, abandon you, or turn my back upon you, and yet I can hear you interceding for me, “Forgive him, he doesn’t know what he is doing.”  And, indeed, often I don’t.  I live my life in ignorance swayed by the mistaken pull of others.  Forgive me for my wrongs and thank you that you are so willing to forgive. 

Your very purpose on the cross was so that I might be forgiven.  Your blood dripping from the nails in your hands and feet, dripping from your lashings, your crown of thorns and the spear in your side–it splatters upon me, washing away my sins.

Second, the moment before your death you called out, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.”  Jesus, you succeeded in fulfilling God’s will perfectly.  You gave up yourself for others.  Teach me, too, how to give up my spirit, my will, my personal desires, and place them in your hands.  I want to trust you enough, Lord, to offer my whole self as Jesus did.

I tend to think of the crucifixion as a sad day.  And in many ways it was.  But this day also represents fulfillment of God’s will.  It represents forgiveness and grace.  It represents hope for all humanity.  Thank you, Lord Jesus.  Amen.

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Jesus, in the Garden of Gethsemane you showed me how to pray.  Seldom, if ever, have I prayed with the kind intensity that you prayed that night.  I’m much more like Peter, James, and John who didn’t fully grasp the significance of that moment.  Help me, Lord, to understand the magnitude of spiritual issues, the importance of your will in any matter.  Keep me awake, not just physically, but spiritually to the movement of God.  Keep me from sleeping at those critical moments when I should be listening to you.

Jesus, you also showed me the importance of persistence in your Gethsemane prayer.  I find it encouraging that even though you understood God’s will for your life, you prayed three times to let that cup pass, to be free from this difficult task ahead of you.  I see that’s it’s okay for me to do the same–to pray again and again.  You don’t see that as a lack of faith or an act of disobedience.  Rather, you understand it for what it is–a plea from deep in the soul that cannot be satisfied  easily.

 Jesus, your prayer is a model for how I should pray in God’s will.  This is difficult for me.  How do I balance the prayer of “Your will be done” with the prayer of “Ask and you shall receive”?  I think most of my problem is that I don’t listen very well.  I’m too busy figuring out what I want and fail to hear what you want.  Help me begin with the latter.  Help me hear your desires for my life first.  Then, when there is a battle between your will and mine, as you experienced in the Garden, I’ll see the selfishness of my own will and be ready to long for yours.

Jesus, in the end it was inevitable.  God didn’t change the divine will.  You still were required to go through with the sacrifice.  And in the end you accepted it in obedience.  No, it’s more than an acceptance.  You embraced it because it was God’s will for you.  Teach me to embrace what is your will for me, Lord.  Rather than moping around filling sorry for myself, give me the courage and grace to open my arms wide to the circumstances before me.

Jesus, thank you for your obedience.  It has made all the difference in my life.  Teach me to also pray as you pray that I might act in obedience and make a difference in your kingdom.  Amen.

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