Thou Art The Potter

I've been up all night, so this post is composed as I'm feeling tired and probably a little bit vulnerable. But I've been thinking a lot about God tonight.

When I pray, there's a difference between "going before the Father" with routine prayer and "really going before the Father", exposed, vulnerable, pissed off, hollowed out, etc. In other words, though my heart is always in it, some prayer time is more poignant than others. The poignant ones take many forms: There's the prayer when I feel rotten because of sin and I come crawling on my knees. There's the one where I feel disconnected from God and come asking for renewal. There's the one where I'm angry and the prayer involves more harsh words than kind ones. There's the one where I'm overwhelmed and seek peace. But none of those really describe how I'm feeling right now.

You know how clay (or Play-Doh) gets those little cracks in it if it has been left out for too long? That's how I'm feeling. Still pliable, but with little cracks in me that need to me kneaded and smoothed out. I want to feel the hands of God physically working me over. Not in a forgiving way, but rather in a nurturing way. You ever feel like you need God to make himself known in the physical, tangible sense? Real Live Preacher makes the comment that he occasionally sneaks into churches and takes naps in the pews because he likes the feeling that God is watching over him. That's what I want right now. I want to walk into an empty cathedral and lay down in the back pew and just go to sleep. For hours and hours. And wake up and feel sore because God's hands have been at work.

Like so many others, I'm spent. Life is a little bit hard right now. I'm nearing a breaking point. Lend me your hands, God. I'm the clay (or blue Play-Doh). Have Thine Own Way.