First Steps toward a Dialog with God
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By Anne Graham Lotz
What kind of a year, or month, or week have you had? Has it been...
physically exhausting?
emotionally depleting?
spiritually draining?
socially depressing?
relationally devastating?
professionally discouraging?
financially challenging? Do you long to just sit down and talk to someone about it? Someone
who is a wise, caring, attentive listener? Someone with integrity, who
can keep confidences? Someone who won't silently smirk at your
stupidity or ignorance but will actually love you while patiently
listening?
There are times my heart aches to have someone to talk to about
me...and them...and it...and you. So I carve out time to get alone, curl
up in my easy chair by the fire, and imagine Jesus sitting there in
another chair opposite me. And I just talk to Him...that is the privilege
we call prayer.
I never cease to be amazed that Jesus invites you and me, as His
children and in His name...to come into His Father's presence, to crawl
up into His lap by faith, to put our head on His shoulder of strength, to
feel His loving arms of protection around us, and to pour out our
hearts.
As God's only Son, Jesus took advantage of this same privilege of
prayer. His heart also must have ached to talk to His heavenly Father.
He too needed a loving listener, Someone He could trust with His
innermost thoughts and feelings. Someone who would never betray or
deny Him — which is one reason He prayed when there was no special
reason to pray, except that He simply wanted to talk. So He...
prayed privately,
prayed publicly,
prayed alone,
prayed with friends,
prayed in crowds...
prayed standing,
prayed sitting,
prayed kneeling,
prayed on His face...
prayed early in the morning,
prayed late in the evening,
prayed during the day,
prayed all night. Jesus prayed! He loved to talk to His Father.
I love to talk to Him too.
Do you ever get an opportunity to talk with someone you've just been
dying to talk with, then when the time comes, you can't think of
anything to say?
That has happened to me many, many times in prayer. It's amazing:
how can I love God so much and long to talk with Him so much, yet be
so tongue-tied in His presence? I wonder...could that be a sign that I
am in His presence? Is He inviting me just to be quiet for a few
moments...to simply be still, as the words of this beloved old hymn
suggest?
Dear Lord and Father of mankind,
Forgive our foolish ways!
Reclothe us in our rightful mind;
In purer lives Thy ser vice find,
In deeper reverence, praise.
Drop Thy still dews of quietness,
Till all our strivings cease;
Take from our souls the strain and stress,
And let our ordered lives confess
The beauty of Thy peace.
Breathe through the heats of our desire
Thy coolness and Thy balm;
Let sense be dumb, let flesh retire;
Speak through the earthquake, wind, and fire,
O still, small voice of calm In the frantic, frenzied rush that is my typical day, it takes time to be
still in His presence. In fact, I've found that one of the secrets to
loosening my tongue in order to carry on a meaningful conversation
with Him is just time — time when I don't have a deadline looming. Or
a clock to watch. Or the next thing on my schedule to do. It takes time
to settle my mind on the Eternal and just worship Him for who He is as
my prayer begins
Make sure there is no sin between you and your Father, robbing you of
the sweetness of reveling in His presence. Like me, if you've been to
the Cross and received Jesus as your Savior and Lord, you're forgiven.
But sin is a constant presence in our lives, and in order to maintain a
clear channel of communication with the Father, we need to confess
the mistakes we've made, the sins we've committed.
So go ahead. You pray. Obviously, I won't be listening. This kind of
prayer is very private. You may want to write down on a piece of paper
the sins you are naming. (If you're like me you may need several
sheets of paper!) Then, since you committed them one by one, when
you pray, make sure you name them one by one. And remember
too...confess your own sin, not somebody else's.
When you've finished your confession, take the paper where you've
recorded your sins by the names God gives each one, then burn or
tear up the paper. Now, let's meditate on these words together...
There is a fountain filled with blood
drawn from Immanuel's veins,
And sinners plunged beneath that flood
Lose all their guilty stains.
The dying thief rejoiced to see
That fountain in his day;
And there may I, though vile as he,
Wash all my sins away To be honest, even after I confess my sin, I sometimes have trouble
forgiving myself and letting go of it. It tends to haunt me with regret
and remorse. I've learned by hard experience that self-flagellation can
be devil-inspired. So now, when Satan comes to remind me that I am
a weakling in prayer, I tell him, Yes, I have been. But I have taken my
prayerlessness and my pride to the Cross, and I know my sin is
forgiven and my guilt has been atoned for.
What sin is Satan trying to remind you of? Is it lying or adultery or
abortion or jealousy or bitterness or resentment or unforgiveness or
child molestation or abuse? Is it ingratitude or prayerlessness or
pridefulness or casualness or hypocrisy or a critical spirit? When Satan
comes to remind you of your sin, remind him that your sin has been
forgiven and your guilt has been atoned for — at the Cross! It has
been covered by the blood of Jesus, and you bear it no more! When
Satan tries to dig up your forgiven past, settle into your quiet place of
prayer and meditate on the words of yet another old hymn:
Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.
It is well with my soul,
It is well with my soul,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.
My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin, not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul! Despite all the promises and reminders, sometimes the stain of my sin
seems so repugnant and the gift of His grace seems so extravagant
that I can hardly believe He bestows it on us ruined sinners so freely.
But He does. His Word tells us, "If we confess our sins, he is faithful
and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all
unrighteousness." Still, I sometimes find myself asking, Lord, did we
hear You right? Did You say all unrighteousness? Do You mean all my
sin, past, present, and future? Even if it's sin I consider little and
insignificant, like gossip; or medium-sized, like losing my temper; or
great big, like murder and adultery and stealing? Did You really mean
all my sin is forgiven?
Then I hear Him whispering to my heart — listen, and you may hear
him too: "Anne, the blood of Jesus...purifies you from all sin....In him
you have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in
accordance with the riches of God's grace....Because it is impossible
for the blood of bulls and goats to take away your sins....Christ came
into the world....You have been made holy through the sacrifice of the
body of Jesus Christ once for all....The Holy Spirit also testifies to you
about this....Your sins and lawless acts I will remember no more."
Hearing these words in my heart, I cry out in gratitude, Thank You!
Thank You! Thank You, dear Jesus, for cleansing me and washing me
by Your blood! Based on Your Word, I know I am clean and forgiven.
Amen.
Whew! I feel better. Like I've had a shower after a strenuous workout!
Now...now, I'm finally ready to really talk to Him. And I sense that He
is waiting, listening, gently inviting: Therefore, Anne, since you have
confidence to enter the Most Holy Place by the blood of Jesus, by a
new and living way opened for you through the curtain, that is, his
body, and since you have a great priest over the house of God, draw
near to God with a sincere heart in full assurance of faith, having your
heart sprinkled to cleanse you from a guilty conscience.
Excerpt from I Saw the Lord by Anne Graham Lotz
Copyright © 2006 by Anne Graham Lotz, published by Zondervan, used by permission.
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