SheLoves Magazine

Wellness Wednesday: Awakening to Peace During My Season of Insomnia

“It was as if God led me down a long corridor of memories and invited me to talk about them.”

By Tara Rodden Robinson |Twitter: @tararodden 

On the morning of November 6, 2011, I crawled out of bed and while waiting for the coffee to brew, I tuned in to my Twitter stream and saw this:

David Allen is an oft-quoted, super-famous, productivity guru. As a bit of a productivity guru myself, I faithfully use his method, Getting Things Done—GTD for short—day in and day out, year after year.

Being curious and sleepless and (at the time) into the whole “med-drug scene,” I clicked over to the NY Times article: Sleep Medication: Mother’s New Little Helper

A brief summary: Women (particularly moms) suffering from anxiety, depression, and insomnia: pharmaceutical industry delighted to help.

I promptly got spitting mad at David Allen. From my sleep-deprived point of view, he was misguided, insensitive and misinformed. Let me tell you (and Mr. Allen, too), no productivity method in the world can make a dent in a full blown, middle of the night, heebie-jeebie producing anxiety attack.

At the time, I was pulling out every trick in the book and slurping down plenty of Ambien and Celexa to boot. But those weren’t what ultimately brought me some much needed healing.

For that, I needed divine intervention. Literally.

A change in perspective

It was my pastor friend, James, who mentioned that maybe my sleepless nights were actually opportunities in disguise. (I met James, somewhat ironically, because of the Getting-Things-Done-themed podcast I host.)

What if, James asked, these times can be night watches for you? Maybe the Lord is awakening you for some reason. Next time it happens, talk to Him. Listen for what He has to say to you.

I went cold turkey on the Ambien the very next night. At around 3am, I woke up and thought, “Ok, I’m awake. Lord, I’m listening. Is there anything you want to tell me?”

Yearning to stay awake

The experience was harrowing. And amazing. It was as if God led me down a long corridor of memories and invited me to talk about them. I went deeper and deeper into my past. I felt more and more loved and comforted. Suddenly, I popped out of the hallway of memory and into my body. I was calm and aware of my breathing and totally at peace. Wow.

As crazy as it sounds, I started looking forward to awakening in the middle of the night. It’s hard to put into words what my late night conversations with God were like. Sometimes I talked. Sometimes I listened. Sometimes, we just sat together quietly in the dark. I found myself feeling slightly disappointed if I slept uninterrupted until morning.

When I’m hurting, it’s so tempting to look outside myself to a method or a tool or a medication to try to “fix” me. But I’ve found that embracing my brokenness, like reveling in the sleepless nights, to be a surer, straighter path to healing.

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So, dear SheLoves reader, what about you?

• How are you sleeping?
• If you wake up in the middle of the night, what do you tell yourself?

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About Tara: 

Tara Rodden Robinson is an author, coach, and educator. Known as The Productivity Maven, she blogs at tararobinson and tweets @tararodden. She lives in Corvallis, Oregon, with her husband and their two dogs. She is working on mastering complex yoga poses and searching for the perfect gluten-free bread recipe. When she’s not writing, coaching, or teaching, she’s out in the wilderness hiking and watching birds.

What Love Looks Like: Running (and Praying) for Each Other

On waking up + praying for my sisters + cheering from the sidelines.

By Stefanie Thomas | Twitter: @stefanie_nicole
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A gust of wind coming through my bedroom window woke me up. The window pane rattled and I opened my eyes to see white sheers billowing towards me. I looked at the clock: 3am.

I remembered the weather report had said there was a wind warning, and a chance of heavy rainfall overnight. The previous day had been unusually hot and muggy for late September, and I was actually ready for a bit of rain (I find it kind of peaceful–clearly I was born in the right city). But my 3am thoughts were not on me and my own visions of a cozy Sunday. No, within seconds of being stirred awake by the howling wind, my mind was on the company of women who would be running a half-marathon at 9am that morning. Regular SheLoves Magazine readers are likely familiar with this bursting-with-love endeavour, but for those of you who aren’t, dozens of women (most of them self-proclaimed non-athletes) raised their hands and said “YES” to running a half-marathon and raise money for Living Hope to support women in Northern Uganda. (Read more about why they said Yes here.).

I jumped up to close the window and crawled back into bed. I could have drifted back to sleep quickly, but I remembered something Tina Francis (a.k.a. @teenbug, a.k.a. the gorgeous dynamo whose stirring heart started this whole half-marathon thing) said in a video she’d made for TGIF–her weekly SheLoves Magazine column. She’d asked for people to pray for the runners—not to just say “we’ll be praying for you” but to actually pray.

I thought about two years earlier, when my sisters and “Monkey Sisters” and I had walked 60km in the “Weekend to End Breast Cancer.” I remembered what the journey had been like for me—the fundraising, the training, the 60km walk itself (it was mid-August and smoking hot out, and at the end of day one I got a stress fracture in my foot and had to wear a boot cast for six weeks, but that’s another story). I recalled how I’d felt the night before the walk, and I thought about what I would have wanted prayer for.

Intercession

I curled up on my side, pulling the covers over my shoulders: Okay God, here we go! Prayer time. I prayed that all of the women (and men!) running the half-marathon would be—at that moment—sleeping well. I prayed that each of them would wake up feeling rested, and would have time to enjoy whatever breakfast would be best for their individual running needs. (One woman’s scrambled eggs is another woman’s oatmeal.) I prayed for the runners I know and adore (you know who you are) and for those I’ve never met.

I remembered how I’d felt the night before the 60km walk and I imagined some of them likely having a nervous tummy. I prayed that each and every one of them would feel a peace wash over them and carry them through the run. I prayed that during the half-marathon bodies would be limber, aches and pains would go away, blisters would go unnoticed. I prayed that if the course started to seem impossible, these brave runners would feel a surge of energy to keep going. I imagined them crossing the finish line—hugs and high-fives, smiles and happy tears.

(Side note: As I type this, I just saw a tweet from Tina: “Need prayer … Please. Past 15 km. So many tears …” You didn’t know, Teenbug, but I was praying for you. Big Time. I was with you on this journey. So many of us were with you on this journey!!!)

The Bigger Picture

A few times during this middle-of-the-night prayer session I started to doze off. But I brought my wandering mind back to the present and kept myself awake so I could pray everything I wanted to pray for these half-marathoners. When I thought I’d covered everything on my “To Pray For” list, I felt momentarily satisfied. But then I remembered the bigger picture. I remembered why these runners were running.

My younger sister has made me laugh on many occasions by handing me her camera to show me a picture of someone or something, then zooming out to reveal that the thing I was looking at was actually just a tiny part of the distant background. (Kids, feel free to try this at home—it can be very entertaining!)

(This just in—another tweet from Tina: “Flying baby … beautiful breeze.” Yay! I hope you were feeling all of our collective prayers! Seriously, this tweet just rocked my world.)

Well, in the middle of that night, I felt my mind do this reverse close-up. My focus was on the runners and suddenly it zoomed out to land on the women they were running for. I remembered our sisters in Northern Uganda. I thought of all of the ways they have been undervalued, abused and violated. My heart hurt for them. Many of them have had their faces mutilated–lips, noses, ears severed–by LRA rebels. The money raised for Living Hope will go towards their post-surgery recovery. While it was pretty easy to think of what the half-marathoners might need prayer for, just hours before their big run, I couldn’t begin to create a list of all of the things I would wish for these women in Africa. So from the comfort of my bed that night, I held these sisters in my heart and prayed that they would experience: Freedom. Safety. Empowerment. Healing. Peace.

As I drifted off to sleep again, I added this: God, I know there’s a rainfall warning, but for the runners … No rain tomorrow morning. Please, and thank-you.

What woke me up in the morning was not wind rattling my window panes but the thunderous sound of a heavy downpour of rain hitting my roof. It was coming down in buckets.

No!!! I almost had to laugh. Maybe running in a downpour would somehow feel cleansing? Maybe every raindrop is a tear shed for what the women of Northern Uganda have endured? Maybe. I glanced at the clock. 8:20am. Okay, God, you’ve got 40 minutes to get this out of your system. I dozed off …

When I woke up a while later, what I noticed first was the silence. No thundering rain on the roof was a good sign. From behind closed eyelids I could sense a brightness in my bedroom. I opened my eyes to see sunshine peeking through the blinds. I looked at the clock. 8:58am. A much-needed sleep-in for me but more importantly, sunshine for run time. Thank. You. God!

I put on the coffee and began to write this post. I followed some of the runners’ updates on Twitter and Facebook. I prayed. I felt my heart swell. And when I saw Tina’s tweet after she crossed the finish line, “BOOM. So many many tears. Done. Love my girls. Xoxo” along with this picture, I felt the tears spill over.

And then I saw this picture of Idelette, founding editor of SheLoves Magazine, as she finished the half-marathon. This one got me too. It gets me every time I look at it. The smile on her beautiful face says it all:

For 11 weeks I’d followed along with the journey of these now half-marathoners. I’d seen pictures of training runs, smiling sweaty satisfied friends linking arms. I’d read progress updates some of the runners had posted online. I’d sent messages of encouragement. I’d made a donation. But none of these things gave me blisters, or sore knees or ankles. No, I wasn’t there when these determined women laced up their running shoes early in the morning, or after a long day at work, when they headed out into the heat or the rain to run, whether they felt like it or not. Now that’s got “SheLoves” written all over it.

By the time this piece is posted, the half-marathon itself will be one week in the rear-view mirror. But for the beautiful women of Northern Uganda, the life-changing gifts are still to come.

To all of you glorious runners, thank you for your heart and hard work. I was only watching your journey from the sidelines but it brought inspiration, cheers and a few tears. Thank you for blessing our sisters in Africa and thank you for blessing me!

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Editor’s note: Please join us in also reading Tina Francis’ epic TGIF post on this experience: Three A-Ha Moments in the Aftermath of running my first half-marathon, including a recap of the 14-week journey of our “SheLoves Half-Marathon.” –idelette xoxo

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About Stefanie:

Stefanie is a Registered Clinical Counsellor living in Vancouver, BC. She feels blessed to work in a helping profession and is grateful that her work requires her to show up not in a power suit but with listening ears and a compassionate heart. Stefanie enjoys spending time with family and friends and has never met a kid or baby she doesn’t like. She is a noticer and appreciator of birds (chickadees, herons, eagles) and many a beach rock has come home in her pocket. Stefanie is a lover of music, tv and movies, and she is gifted at absorbing and retaining useless pop culture trivia. She loves walking, fresh air, the smell of dirt, and anything of the salt and vinegar persuasion. She can often be found puttering.

Image credit: Girl in window, by Corlijn Groot

Spirit Tuesday: Finding Rest in the Presence of the One who Loves

Letting Go of the Should Have’s and the Could Have’s.

By Donna Schwartz

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Some days I wake up feeling very confused. Who the heck am I and what am I supposed to be doing? Of course there is laundry, or sorting through all the papers that need to be filed and reorganized. And then there is the issue of weight and why have I been such a failure at it?

And of course there is the guilt I feel for not having connected with some friends that I love but haven’t made the time for, for whatever reason. The house wasn’t clean enough to invite them over; I didn’t know what to feed them. What would be the right day? Oh well, let’s not think about it right now. And then there is the blank canvas leaning against my sofa, waiting to have a transformation and be the latest “pop art” in my living room, but then again … What if I don’t like it when I am finished and then I will have wasted $60 on a canvas–that would be good for a little more guilt. Oh ya and back to the weight loss or lack of weight loss that keeps me in bondage to poor self esteem and a reminder of how undisciplined I really am.

There are so many things to do: social injustices to be involved in; visits to my 95-year-old Aunty; taking a dinner to my son and his family; taking time to pray and seek the Lord for all of the above … Why aren’t I praying more for my friend’s sister who is struggling with cancer in her body and the young boy who tried to take his life, but God spared it; but for sure there is a still a road of recovery. There are the people I know who are struggling in their marriage; with their children; mental illness that seems to be so rampant today.

Oh my brain gets so tired thinking of all these things and what am I to do?

But then …. there is God. Yes, yes, that’s it. I have left HIM out of the equation. Of course. What does God have to to say about all of this?

My quiet time this morning with Sarah Young’s book Jesus Calling:

Let my love enfold you in the radiance of My Glory. Sit still in the Light of My Presence, and receive my Peace. These quiet moments with Me transcend time, accomplishing far more than you can imagine. Bring Me the sacrifice of your time, and watch to see how abundantly I bless you and your loved ones.

Through the intimacy of our relationship, you are being transformed from the inside out. As you keep your focus on Me, I form you into the one I desire you to be. Your part is to yield to My creative work in you, neither resisting it nor trying to speed it up. Enjoy the tempo of a God-breathed life by letting Me set the pace. Hold My hand in childlike trust, and the way before you will open up step by step.

Yes, my heart will rest in you, God.

About Donna:

My name is Donna. I am a mother of two sons and grandmother of two grandsons. I love all the roles I get to play in this space and time called “My Life”: Mom, gramma, daughter, sister, sister in law, mother-in-law, friend, colleague, etc. How each role is uniquely different yet so important.

I have worked in the health care field as an Administrative Assistant for most of my career. I love to travel and had an opportunity to work in the United Arab Emitrates for 3.5 years for InterHealth Canada. While there, I wrote a few articles in our company newletter of different travel experiences I had throughout the Emirates.

I have a passion to encourage women to be all they can be–to “Dream Big” and not be limited by fear of the unknown or fear of failure … Our wonderful Heavenly Father has given each of us gifts that He wants us to develop and share with others. Let’s get out and change our world!

Photo credits:

Harvest, by Yarik Mishin

Donna, by Judith Laurel Photography

MY STORY: Njoki Mbui

Finding my calm in the middle of a storm.

By Njoki Mbui | Twitter: @njokimbui

I despise goodbyes. I choke at the thought that something good will have to come to an end; whether it’s visiting with a friend, coming home from a vacation or even the last bite of a good meal. I have never been good at it.

Early October 2008 I came home to an empty house. My husband of seven years had left. There was no goodbye. His shoes were missing from the shoe rack in the garage and so were his clothes from his side of the closet. I had felt this day drawing to a close. We met when I was 19 years old, fell in love and said “I do” two years later. We had a rocky start. For a young couple, we were faced with numerous challenges, including supporting each other through university and establishing our careers. We were no experts–we both made some costly mistakes. Now looking back, our friendship was the only unshakable bond that held us together. We wanted the best for each other.

I had never lived alone in my whole entire life. The following weeks alone were filled with anguish that caused insomnia and weight loss. My body was surrendering to the stress; even the love and support from family and close friends was not enough. It felt like my world as I knew it had come to an end. In addition, I slowly lost my instinct to believe in the good in people and the ability to trust. I lost many friends. It was a season of violent turbulence in my life.

Fighting to “keep it together”

We had lost our home in Kenya in 1998 due to tribal clashes (hence the move to Canada); I thought that was tough. But this! This felt like an emotional tidal wave. I grieved a failed marriage, loss of family, friends and most importantly my dream of becoming a mom. Around the same time Madonna and Guy Ritchie were also getting divorced. She was throwing a party to celebrate her divorce–not me! I was not going to give up easily.

I fought tooth and nail until I realized this was not my battle. Giving up on my marriage cost me the little joy that I had left. God found me a mound of clay lying flat on my bedroom floor exhausted soaked in tears. I managed a short prayer: “God if this does not kill me, let it be the best experience of my life”. He answered. Little did I know, this was going to be the beginning of a beautiful love story. My Potter picked me up and began molding me.

In the Hands of a Loving Father

October 19 2008, I was worshiping to “Majesty (Here I am)” by Delirious. I got to the line:

“Your grace has found me just as I am, empty handed but alive in your hands … Forever I am changed by your love
In the presence of your Majesty”

My walls came down. I could not do this alone–it was time to surrender my life to Him.  He had pursued me for a long time and had finally caught my attention. See, I was raised in the church and knew of God, I went to church most Sundays, but did not  have a relationship with Him. I was in control of my life and lived it the best way I knew how.

His grace and mercy

His grace had found me divorced and alone, feeling like I had come undone. God had good plans. He knew I was not going to walk through this journey alone. Through an old friend, I met three mature Christian women who became my guardian angels. They were placed in my life for a time and for a purpose. They called and prayed with me on the phone, visited and mentored me throughout the journey. God used them to shower me with His love. My heart of stone softened and my spirit came alive! Instead of feeling rejected, I felt loved; my sadness lifted and joy filled every inch of me. His perfect love cast out every fear in me. I was His princess and He was doing a new thing! This was not an overnight transformation, I continued to endure some dark and difficult days, but the assurance that I will never walk alone was and has continued to be my source of strength.

There is freedom in love and forgiveness. I can now look back with gratitude for the most significant and blessed almost 3 years of my life. If the purpose of this experience was to awaken me from my spiritual slumber, then I consider it all joy! My dreams as a little girl are very much alive–one day I’ll walk down the isle and say “I will” to my God picked prince charming, we’ll live happily ever after in a shoe house and have a dozen kids. God is writing a beautiful story.

“Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything”  (James 1:2-4)

• Has God ever turned what was intended to hurt you into a blessing?

About Njoki:

My name is Njoki. I was born and raised in Kenya. My family immigrated to Canada thirteen years ago. If asked to introduce myself, I would say; I am a daughter, sister, niece and friend… my family defines who I am. We love to love, cook, eat and laugh out loud; the happiest days are spent hanging out with my family and close friends. I am a pediatric nurse, driven and passionate about issues affecting women and children.

Katelin’s Story: Finding Joy after Miscarriage

On Loving a God who knows what it means to lose a child.

By Natasha Files | Twitter: @natashafiles

When I moved to Dawson Creek in January I was relieved to know one person: Katelin. Since she and her husband Josh picked me up at the airport on day one of my northern adventure, I have enjoyed getting to know them as great friends. This past week Katelin and I shared in the all-too-regular ritual of visiting the local cupcake shop and caught up over the decadent flavors of cinnamon chai and raspberry lemonade. I am grateful for our relationship because she is a friend who expects us to be real–even when things aren’t pretty–and this time was no different.

We discussed SheLoves and Katelin encouraged me to write about joy. She then proceeded to share her most recent experience and how it translates into joy. I was so moved, I asked if she would be willing to share it in this week’s column:

Katelin & Josh’s story

A few months ago Josh and I decided we were ready to start a family and although I knew it was too early for any results, I started taking pregnancy tests over a week before the test could detect anything. One evening, about four days before my expected period, I had a positive test (followed by one negative test and three more positive tests). We were elated and couldn’t wait to tell family and friends, but wanted to hear the heartbeat before sharing the news.

Over the past year, I have dealt with a blood clot issue so was put on heparin, a blood thinner, after my first prenatal exam. This meant that Josh had to give me a needle in my stomach twice a day. Painful.

A requirement for being on blood thinners was having extra ultrasounds, which gave us many more opportunities to see our baby. We were thrilled when we first saw and heard the heartbeat at six weeks and then again at eight. Soon after, we told our families and then at around 10 weeks we told our friends and church. It felt officially “real” after everyone knew!

Sad news

Around 12.5 weeks I was at work and noticed some spotting. I called Josh who quickly came and took me to the emergency room. Later that day we found out I had miscarried. My heart felt like it literally sunk. They told us it was probably a “missed miscarriage” as our baby had stopped growing around 8.5 weeks–just after we’d last heard the heartbeat. I was also told I would need to have an “evacuation” the next day.

We went home and spent the evening crying. When I got up the next morning and realized that by the afternoon my baby would no longer be inside of me I cried even more. Picking up my computer to go on Facebook, I noticed Josh had already used it to search for scriptures and was inspired to do the same. After googling “scriptures for miscarriage” I came across Psalm 34:18-19:

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted; He rescues those whose spirits are crushed. The righteous person faces many troubles but the Lord comes to the rescue each time.”

The only words that really sunk in were, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted.” Shortly after I had the evacuation and then Josh and I spent a few days at home to grieve.

Grieving

Sunday worship was incredible, but hard. We stayed in the sanctuary as long as we could and just basked in God’s presence. We left without visiting with anyone, knowing we would just break down if we did–though not out of sadness. On the way home we talked about how we felt God telling us it was OK to have joy and that we need to trust Him with everything, especially with our baby.

Romans 8:28 says:

“And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them.”

Divine Empathy

The following week the rest of Psalm 34 really sunk in, especially “the Lord comes to the rescue each time.” Through this experience I have been reminded that miscarriages are more common than they are discussed. I took comfort in knowing that many others have gone through this, as well. However, the most comfort came from a text message from my old roommate. She reminded me of something that I hadn’t considered: God knows exactly what Josh and I are going through because He once lost His son as well.

One in Five

After we chatted I did some research on miscarriages and, as Katelin wrote, they are more common than expected. According to research from a Canadian parenting website, miscarriages occur in one of every five pregnancies. Multiplied, that is one million babies miscarried for every five million born. Wow. In some cases, the cause is known, but in many others it is a mystery. The Miscarriage Association of the UK has some online resources if you are interested in knowing more.

About Natasha:
Natasha Files is Case Manager with a Mental Health and Addictions Team. She has experience working with youth and adults struggling with a variety of life-controlling issues and she specializes in eating disorders. Natasha’s passion for mental wellness began when she personally experienced the impact of a genuinely caring professional. That passion is paired with a love of espresso, only to be overshadowed by her desire to see women set free from life-controlling issues.

A Vet for Very Small Fish?

A little boy’s prayer, a tiny fish and fighting the urge to bargain with God.

By Shekinah Jacob

He was a tiny fish, about half the size of my little finger, his eyes as small as a full stop, a mouth the size of an ellipsis in font size 14.

Not even his colour singled him out for attention; it almost seemed as if God had taken a break from the iridescent peacock and the psychedelic parrot to pour the dregs of the paint bowl over him. This fish would never have made it to the top 100 most amazing animals, being neither bold nor beautiful. In fact, he had been quite the opposite of bold, having allowed himself to be cornered in the fish tank, while he was viciously bitten by an aggressive tiger fish.

My five-year-old son cried out in horror at this drama of the survival of the fittest, and his little sister tugged at my sleeve until I unwillingly went to investigate. The fish lay on its side, unmoving, in the last stages of death.

Tupperware tomb

The kids begged me to do something, and although I knew it was quite futile, I fished out his lacerated body and put him into a small Tupperware box filled with water. As I returned to the kitchen, my son raced past me into the bedroom, and since he was born with a voice set permanently a few decibels above the rest of mankind, I overheard his little bellow of a prayer: “God, please heal the fish. It’s hurt. You can make it better, so please heal it. In Jesus’ name I pray, amen.” Then he bounced out of the room, his face shining through two layers of grime and announced, “I asked Jesus to heal the fish, Mama. He will do that, right?”

I willed my mouth to say “Yes.” And then I flinched in anticipatory pain, fearing the first lash of disappointment that would cut through his young faith, one that resembled a blade of grass stretching all of its tender green length out towards the sun. I prayed half-heartedly, wishing I could bargain with God, barter one of my requests so I could buy an answered prayer for my son. “He’s too young, Lord. Give him a few more years to find his feet and grow the roots that will hold in a storm. Heal that fish, because I know that if you choose to do it, you can.”

Barrage of questions

And so we went to bed, but not a minute too soon, because I had to endure a series of questions such as “Is there a vet for very small fish and can we take him there? Why does this city not have a vet for very small fish? Can we move to a city that has a vet for very small fish?”

By the time my husband got home from work I had to communicate in sign language in an attempt to give my mouth a rest. Just before I fell asleep I fought the urge to run down to the pet store, climb in through a window, steal a similar fish and replace the one that I was sure would have succumbed to its injuries by now. I lay back instead and mentally reorganised the theology of disappointment with God, in the language of toddlers.

In the morning, I heard the joyous screaming of two children. “He’s been healed, Mama! Jesus healed the fish, just like I asked him to! He’s healed! He’s healed!”

I went down to see the miracle swimming away in the Tupperware, the picture of valour with two dark red spots on his head and one on his body, the scars of battle. I managed not to cry. “Yes,” I said as matter-of-factly as I could. “Jesus healed him, just as you asked.”

The jigsaw of faith

All through that day I thought about the mystery of faith. How the answered prayers are like pieces of a jigsaw that we begin in the toddler years, and as we fill them in over time, we begin to get an inkling that the picture forming is the face of Jesus. Who he is. And how the unanswered cries seem to form the bigger, more crucial pieces of this puzzle, telling us that God is a lion, not a genie in a bottle. He’s a wild king who is in love with us. And he will risk denying us in order that we may take our gaze from his hands to his face, in order that we may experience the joy of receiving and giving unconditional love. “Not for what you give, but for who you are.”

“And who are You, really?” we might demand in moments of great pain. “And where are you?” we might holler in fright when he stays silent, when the wild king seems to have left us alone in the forest and we can’t find our way back.

And then a young man might remember a story of a nondescript fish that he once prayed over. A woman may remember how God sent her an eagle out of a bright blue sky when she was a little girl blurry-eyed with tears. A picture emerges, and so we wait. In faith. Knowing that even as we walk through the valley of death, who God is never changes.

About Shekinah:

Shekinah is a drama queen who lives in Chennai, India, with her knight (not always in shining armour because it tends to get too hot to wear metal clothing) and their two toddlers who make her laugh, and love her on bad hair days. Her idea of heaven is coffee, a good conversation, and cupcakes with zero calories. She likes writing about her family because it’s a good way to preserve the memories, and more enjoyable than taking photographs.

Image credit: EXISTENCE © Sara Robinson | Dreamstime.com

Spirit Tuesday: Praying without Asking?

On exploring a prayer life with fewer words.

By Kelley Johnson-Nikondeha

I recently sat with a group of Burundian seminary students who were asked to describe their prayer life. Imagine the requirement to define your own prayer life–its strengths and shortcomings–to an esteemed peer group?

The following hours of discussion took interesting twists and turns as we were challenged to unpack prayer and reconsider commonly held notions of what prayer is and discern: what are the non-negotiable components of an orthodox prayer life?

The Place of Petition

We came to an interesting intersection–the place of petition in our prayer life. Is it necessary to a vibrant prayer life? Can you pray without petition?

Enter the description of my own prayer life, among the esteemed SheLoves sisterhood …

As I have aged, my prayer life has developed a patina shaped by years of ardent petitions. I have asked for many things–that my high school crush would offer me my fist kiss, that I would score well on my SATs and secure a place in the college of my choice, that I would recover from a migraine, that I would have safe travels to and from various places, that I would marry well. I have also engaged in petition on behalf of others, what we call intercession. I would pray for physical healings for friends and family (most notably my own daughter, born with a devastating disease), for restored relationships and marriages, for comfort in the face of deep loss and for provision for my friends abroad languishing in poor economies.

I asked often and witnessed many answers to my prayers of petition. Highlights included my daughter’s miraculous healing and the deep joy of having, indeed, married well!

But as I have continued to mature, my own prayer life as of late has changed. And I did not actually realize it until the question was asked on that cool evening in Bujumbura amid my friends. I articulated something new that has emerged in my own habits of prayer.

I pray using fewer and fewer words these days.

I honestly cannot remember the last time I wrote a list of petitions in my journal or the last time I beseeched God for hours or days on end with a short-list of desperate needs. I cannot recall asking for specifics–not recently. This does not mean I have been without need, or that friends have been without needs.  Amid this season we have negotiated many personal challenges–like my family living a bi-continental existence for months, financial stress brought on by the declining housing market, parenting dilemmas, and the like. But I do not recall many formally articulated prayer much beyond, “Help!”

Most of what I recall is God’s presence. I have walked into His presence intentionally and just let out deep sighs. Sometimes tears – of frustration, exhaustion, and confusion. Even tears of joy have played a part in those times of presence. Just coming into His presence, I have felt already heard, already known, already answered. What could I say that He does not already know?  How can I express my longings in ways He does not already comprehend?  Why should I struggle to ask for what He already knows I need? He so deeply knows me, including the unspoken petitions of my heart. What is there to say?

I have entered a season where I feel more known by Him. Our tenure together has taught me that He is trustworthy in ways I could have only imagined in my youth. So I feel less of an urgency to clamor for God’s attention and make my myriad of pleas. The years have revealed that He knows what I need and can be trusted to care for me as, indeed, He cares for the sparrow.

As one given to many words, it is a surprise to me that my prayer life has few these days. But I think it is a good thing.  There is a deeper awareness of God’s fidelity, as demonstrated by years of faithfulness. I have no need to doubt these days, just lean in with trust. So my prayer life has become uncluttered, more about shared presence and true trust. Interestingly enough, I find that I listen more now as I have yielded the floor to Him. His words, not mine, define my prayer life more and more these days.

So for me, you can pray without petition. You can be in God’s presence and be deeply heard and answered.

Now I still believe in the full range of prayer–praise, lament, thanksgiving, intercession and yes, petition. We are told to pray for the sick, to ask for wisdom, to offer thanks and lift hands in praise. But we are also invited into stillness, into trust, into prayers too deep for words and into His abiding presence. That is prayer, too.  And this is where I am in my prayer life right now, where less is more.

NOTE: Our Burundian friend asked the students to engage in a spiritual exercise: Pray for the next week without petitioning God for anything. Lean into other forms of prayer and maybe even silence. At the end of the week, reflect on what you have learned in the week of prayer without petition. Like all forms of fasting, the goal is not to eliminate petition in our prayer life (anymore than fasting from food is meant to eliminate our need from food!) But can we learn through cessation?  It is an interesting invitation as we consider the contours of our prayer life on this Tuesday morning.

Question:

• How has your prayer life changed?
• What season of prayer do you find yourself in?

About Kelley:

Kelley Johnson Nikondeha is co-director of Amahoro Africa and international staff member of Community of Faith with her husband Claude. She’s a thinker, connector, advocate, avid reader and mother of two beautiful children. Kelley lives between Arizona and Burundi. She loves handwritten letters, homemade pesto and anything written by Walter Brueggemann.

Free to Pray

“She prays three hours every morning, six days a week! And who better to cry for justice than someone who has been dished out loads of injustice?”

By Danielle Strickland | Twitter: @djstrickland

On January 1^st, 2011 our small community of believers in a marginalized and economically deprived area of Edmonton decided to pray. This was not just a determined or renewed effort in our own prayer life but a communal decision to make our community a place of prayer. We set apart a place (it used to be the leader’s office) and opened a 24/7 “war room.” The denomination I belong to (The Salvation Army) is active in 123 countries and launched a global call to prayer for justice and when we heard the call we responded. What else can we do? Well, if we are honest we could do a host of things. I’m an action-oriented person. I’ve been known to think that prayer is a waste of time and echo the song of U2 when they sang, ‘Please, get off your knees now’ in a call to move the church from their huddled holy prayer clubs and into social action. But I’ve learned that this dismissal of prayer is a tragic misconception. Some things I’ve learned along the way:

1.    Only God builds the house. (Surrender to God’s sovereignty). If I’m honest I have a thousand of my own ideas of how to grow a church, or how to get people saved, or how to reform the neighbourhood I’m in. But most of the time my ideas never work. I lack resources and the ability to make those ideas into real action. But when God opens the door, when God declares the time–things happen that can’t happen any other way. The door can’t be shut. Favour comes. Salvation comes. Resources come. I find it hard to keep up with what God is doing when we are actively asking for His direction and help. Prayer is what made Jesus say those beautiful words of perfect surrender (after a night of prayer), “Not my will but yours be done.”

2.    Prayer is a habit that challenges hell and changes us. (Aggressive act). I’ve always thought of prayer as passive. But a better understanding of Jesus and our call to intercession has changed my mind. Prayer is one of the most aggressive parts of our warfare. Committed and passionate prayer has been the marker of God’s moving on the earth. I remember a prayer warrior I know telling me, “Be careful what you pray. Most likely by the end of your prayer you’ll be the answer!’ And it’s true. Prayer doesn’t just challenge hell (although it does that … ever wonder why the compulsion against praying is so hard to overcome?), it changes us. It transforms my will to desire and love God’s will. I know of many people who wish they were more like Christian giants and heroes of the past yet, most of the time the only difference between them and us is the time we spend with God. You’ve got to pray. Jay Leno once said, “I’d do anything for the perfect body: except diet and exercise.” Many of us say the same things about our lack of prayer.

3.    Everyone can pray. (Inclusivity in mission). Some of the best prayer warriors I know are not “super gifted” people in the eyes of the world. They are surrendered and beautiful, but their gifts are not always the public kind. They might be excluded from communal gifts like music or leadership or organizational things–but when it comes to prayer, they are faithful and they are effective. Prayer is something that levels the ground of community. In our little prayer room in Edmonton, a beautiful women who hasn’t has an easy life, takes the morning shift for three hours, six days a week! If you were to judge her by “worldly standards” you’d think she was homeless, or destitute or at least very lonely. You would be wrong. She is part of a fired-up team of prayer warriors who together are changing the atmosphere of our city and nation, crying out for justice day and night. She prays three hours every morning six days a week!! And who better to cry for justice than someone who has been dished out loads of injustice? When Jesus states his mission statement in Luke 4 (the spirit of the sovereign Lord is upon me to release the captives … ) he’s quoting the prophet Isaiah who goes on to say in chapter 61 and verse 4 “they will rebuild the ancient cities, the cities that have been devastated for generations–they will repair.” The “they” he is talking about are the ones who are set free. What better way to start the prophetic process of rebuilding than through praying together for a better world?

4.    Prayer sustains. (I have food that you know not of). One of the most popular questions I answer from people around the world is “How do you keep on going?” Now the next point is going to address this as well – but you can be assured that one of the things prayer does is sustain us. It’s a weird thing to try and explain but our spirits need food. It’s that simple. Jesus said that a blessing was attached to just being hungry and thirsty for righteousness/justice (same root word in Hebrew). Have you ever wondered how Jesus did all nights of prayer and kept on his healing/deliverance/evangelism/justice ministry all the next day? Are you hungry? Are you thirsty? Are you weary? Need sustenance? Pray. Honestly. Pray. Regularly. Pray. Aggressively. You’ll find the blessing is yours. The secret is out.

5.    Presence of God. (Sabbath rest is not about watching more TV). The Sabbath is all the rage these days. It’s been a fascinating “new” discovery for a generation with over-developed, toxically busy lives. The trouble is that we work the Sabbath into our own lives instead of working our lives into the Sabbath. Let me explain. The Sabbath is about intentional time to honour God with our attention, devotion, time and energy. It’s about coming as family, community, and ourselves, before our Maker–as we are. It’s about leaving the watch and the phone at home and wasting time with our Creator and each other, reminding ourselves that ultimately we aren’t in charge and we weren’t born to be slaves. We are free. This all happens to me in the prayer room. I shut off my phone (most times with the odd exception). I lock the door, I put on some worship music really loud and dance, lie down or roll around if I want to. I write, laugh, read poems, sometimes I even try my hand at some art (which I would never do otherwise).

I waste my time (much needed time it seems to me) with God. And I remind myself that I’m not in charge. I’m not a slave. I’m free. This kind of Sabbath to the person who hasn’t been part of a prayer room would seem like “work.” But for real rest, a deep breath of God’s life into my very being–well, let’s just say, it’s way better than a movie.

About Danielle
Danielle serves Jesus as the Corps Officer of Crossroads Community in Edmonton, Canada. Her passion is social justice, including establishing human trafficking response teams in local situations and giving leadership to the global team for the Stop The Traffik campaign. Danielle speaks and teaches around the world and has written several books: Just Imagine: the social justice agenda, Challenging Evil, and newly released this year, The Liberating Truth: How Jesus Empowers Women. Danielle is married and has two sons.

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