When You Need an Answer to Prayers

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A

s she swings higher at twilight, there is only quietness.

Only all these quiet prayers with the sun on the nape.

And the prayers, they are doing something, and it can be felt in the bones.

Prayer isn’t merely talking to God — it is being transformed by God.

Prayer is this moving towards God, heat of a holy fire, and feeling the dross burn away, burning away that word that comes too quickly, “I.”

Because “I,” it isn’t my name, but HisHe alone is the the Great I AM.

Life, it’s not about me. It’s not about what I want. It’s about being wholly I AM‘s.

And in the praying — it becomes not about what I want — but what He wills

The nearer you draw to a holy, loving God, all the “I”s, they burn away into this willing Yes.

There is light in the trees.

There is light in the leaves and in her hair falling and I watch how she throws her head back and she laughs —

the release of letting go — right into light.

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Friday, July 20th, 2012 | Joy Habit, Poetry, Prayer, The Year of Koinonia