The door clicked shut behind me. I looked around the
transformed room, one which I had helped to lay out the day before, when it was
just a church meeting room, but in which now, as I stood in it alone, I was
embraced by peace in my deepest being.
The door on the world would remain closed to the world for
the hour I had booked the prayer room. The first time I went in, I had a plan.
I had a prophetic word which had been spoken over me which I wanted the Lord to
further unpack for me. I went to the art table and listened as I doodled.
During that week, I ran to the prayer room five times. Ran.
Eager to meet with the Lord again. Every time, I encountered God in a different
way. Every time, I was enriched and comforted, refreshed and encouraged. Strengthened
for whatever lies ahead.
I confess that I am a Martha, desperately grasping to be a
Mary. Surrounded by a big house and garden, a big family, a big group of
friends … I am easily distracted out of my prayer window and back into the
fray.
The prayer room gave me space and time and no distractions. The
different stations invited me into various ways of contemplating God, looking
at my journey with him, crying out and longing for and sitting silent.
I want to know the permission … the delight … of the Lord,
to linger in my prayer window. I want to grow blind and deaf to the untidy
house (well, that’s an easy one), food to cook, tasks to be done. Not
permanently, but for an hour every day and not just the fifteen minutes I
usually carve out with one eye on the diary.
I hear the Lord sighing. ‘Michele, Michele, you are easily
distracted. You are worried and upset about many things, but only one is
needed. Choose the best way to live. Choose to linger with me, listening,
learning, loving.’
May I take this word seriously and apply it. May my longing
to sit with Jesus overpower any other senses of duty and responsibility,
distraction and call.
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