On My Knees

I wasn’t felling it on Sunday. I don’t know what happened but something was different.

It’s easy to place the blame on someone or something else.

This time of year is always spiritually dry for me.

It was the pastor’s fault that his sermon didn’t resonate with me.

It was the worship leader’s fault for being moved by the Spirit rather than sticking to the PowerPoint.

It was God’s fault for not speaking to my heart when He had the chance.

It was my fault for engaging and listening but not learning.

No matter whose fault it was, I knew I was in trouble. Big, big trouble.

Rather than diving into a Sunday afternoon nap as soon as I got home, I packed up my Bible (the one I got when I started confirmation class that now rarely leaves my room because it’s been duct taped together three times), my prayer journal, my markers, and headed through the heat to the prayer room.

I left my dusty Chacos outside under the “This is holy ground” sign. I turned off my phone and put myself in time-out.

The chapel’s prayer room is one of my favorite places in the world to spend time with God and yet I felt like awkward stranger.

I was.

As always, I looked at the new prayers on the chalk wall, I checked the note cards board for urgent prayer requests (I’ve found two unsigned suicide notes on note cards in the prayer room before), and ran my hand along the world map as I prayed for brothers and sisters worldwide. I plunked down on my favorite couch poised and ready for God to speak.

I fell asleep.

Not a hard sleep. That jerk-yourself-awake-because-you-didn’t-realize-you’d-drifted sleep. Sunday afternoons and couches are meant for sleeping.

Instead, I got down on my knees, held my hands up in the air, and at the top of my lungs I sang worship songs to my Lord one by one as they came.

Based on the echo I could hear off of the chalk wall, it wasn’t pretty. I pity any real musician walking by to use the chapel organ who had to hear me. But it was good.

Try it.

I dare you.

Take off your shoes, turn off your phone, and lock yourself somewhere private. It doesn’t have to be a prayer room. It can be a bathroom, a car*, a bedroom, a tree in the woods. It just needs to be somewhere where you can be as loud as you need to as your sing praise songs to the Lord as He brings them to your head and to your heart.

It could be as brief as a ten minutes or for hours on end, whatever feels right to you. It’s awkward, strange, uncomfortable and very, very necessary. It is good.

<>< Katie

* If you choose a car, please don’t be on your knees with your hands in the air. Definitely keep your eyes open and your hands on the wheel.

TweetBuffer