Plastic prayers. You know the kind: stiff and formal, practiced, cold, molded into the same words time after time. God, bless Robbie. God, help me get through this day. God, heal Susan.
Plastic prayers rise from plastic hearts that lost their softness. They rise from a head knowledge of how warm hearts should behave. They rise from lips that have lost their honesty.
Plastic prayers. I recognized myself this morning, and it wasn't pleasant.
I don't know when my real, honest prayers turned to plastic, but somehow it happened. I thought back over the last two weeks of work I had logged. They were stressful and nearly unbearable. I realized I hadn't been a good follower and wondered if God had been "herding" me to the pinnacle of misery so I could learn to follow again. The pinnacle of misery was the point where there was nothing left of me. The point where I was all used up and spent. The point where I realized how utterly self-reliant and stubborn I had become. The point where I knew I needed God to turn my attitude around.
I reached the point where there was only one way to go, and that was toward God. So I picked up my Bible. But where to start? It was a big book, and I was overwhelmed. I decided to go to Psalms, remembering that the psalmist had penned verses that sounded just like I felt right now. I'm ashamed to say how many times I've started the book of Psalms, and never once finished it, so I was hesitant to start it again, setting myself up for failure. Somehow -- I'm not sure how -- I ended up in Psalm 42. It was perfect for me that day. As it happened, I was reading from a women's devotional Bible, and the corresponding devotional was equally applicable.
I remember other times in my life when the road back to God was difficult to find and hard to travel. Not so on this day, and for that I was so grateful. It was easy and inviting. I think God knew I didn't have the strength to "follow hard" after Him at that moment.
I'm glad God heard my heart and not my plastic prayers.
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