Lord, I haven’t understood the beauty of this verse until recently. In times past, this verse frustrated, embarrassed, and convicted me. I didn’t pray constantly. I asked You, “How is that even possible?” Jesus didn’t pray constantly, neither did Paul, the writer of this passage. It’s so like me to take Your words and fit them into my mold of understanding, a very rigid mold, indeed. But lately, Your Spirit has revealed mold-smashing truths through the practices of other saints. The prayer life of Brother Lawrence is a lesson for me: His own prayer was nothing else than a sense of the presence of God, his soul being at that time insensible to everything but Divine Love. When the appointed times of prayer were past, he found no difference, because he still continued with God, praising and blessing Him. I now know that prayer is SO much more than words said sitting at the kitchen table, kneeling at a bedside, bowing in a worship service, or crying in a cemetery. For the one who has truly surrendered her heart to You, prayer is constant. The prayer I am writing now will not take long to complete. I write to You because writing forces me to ponder each word and compare it against other words to lay before You because You deserve the best of my thoughts and meditations. But prayer is a deep river, flowing through my heart and spirit, along the shores of my day and night. It is a constant adoration for You as I cut carrot sticks, rake leaves, sit at a red light, sweep the porch, lick frosting from the bowl, fellowship with saints, listen to a friend, or open the door to my office. Your presence surrounds me, and I am locked onto Your frequency. I praise You as the constant listener of my constant prayers.
