After a quick lunch today, I drove through an unfamiliar neighborhood, wasting a little time among the tree-shaded streets, to think, heart full. I found myself in a city park, my car parked facing a field, a place I go to pray sometimes.
I remembered Edith Schaeffer writing about praying while on a crowded city bus, in almost-perfect communion with God amongst the din. Here I am, in near quiet, distracted by great oaks and birds lighting on branches in front of me, on God’s distractions. I am trying to pray Collisions 2:6-7 for someone, asking that God would allow this one “to walk in him, rooted and built up in him and established in the faith. . . abounding in thanksgiving,” a verse I learned by memory long ago. Open-eyed, my mind skitters off track, so I pray the distractions, wrap them up in praise.
Walking in Him. That’s tough. Growing in Him. That’s a process of fits and starts. Who will water the roots, I wonder? Who will build the life of faith? Who will walk with them to help them find their way?
When I drive off, I leave the prayer, full of questions, hanging there on a branch still twittering, perched there with the birds about whom He cares.