After Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of King Herod, wise men from the east arrived unexpectedly in Jerusalem, saying, “Where is He who has been born King of the Jews? For we saw His star in the east and have come to worship Him.” Then Herod secretly summoned the wise men and asked them the exact time the star appeared. He sent them to Bethlehem and said, “Go and search carefully for the child. When you find Him, report back to me so that I too can go and worship Him.” After hearing the king, they went on their way. And there it was – the star they had seen in the east! It led them until it came and stopped above the place where the child was. When they saw the star, they were overjoyed beyond measure. Matthew 2:1-2, 7-10
Said the night wind to the little lamb, “Do you see what I see?”
My words…
All praise to God the Father who used a star as a birth announcement! How fitting a medium to proclaim the arrival of the Light of the World. The Magi called it His star – a particular star given a history-changing assignment: outshine every other star in the sky, and hover over the place where the Son of God lives. Wise men from the east were wise enough to know the significance of such a beacon. Their quest: Find the newly-born King.
Does that star still live or did it shine itself out of existence that night? Too holy to be used again?
My heart swells every time I read of an event where a person encounters You. I love hearing or seeing their reactions. The weary travelers could not contain their joy when they found the place where the King resided. It was no palace. No courtiers flitted about – no servants to be seen. The humble King lived humbly, yet the wise visitors didn’t seem to mind. Their long journey had come to an end. They could finally rest their bodies, their minds, their spirits. For that is what happens when I step into Your presence. I am at peace. I am at rest. I am exactly where I belong.
In the same region, shepherds were staying out in the fields and keeping watch at night over their flock. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Don’t be afraid, for look, I proclaim to you good news of great joy that will be for all the people: Today a Savior, who is Messiah the Lord, was born for you in the city of David. This will be the sign for you: You will find a baby wrapped snugly in cloth and lying in a feeding trough.” Suddenly there was a multitude of the heavenly host with the angel, praising God and saying: Glory to God in the highest heaven, and peace on earth to people He favors!” Luke 2:8-14
Said the little lamb to the shepherd boy, “Do you hear what I hear?”
My words…
On the night that Your Son arrived as a baby in Bethlehem, heaven burst open. An angel with a multitude of the heavenly host erupted in praise, piercing the silent night. The shepherds and their sheep turned heavenward in awe. I’m not sure if the angelic host sang, shouted, or chanted – it doesn’t matter. Their praise could not be contained. Oh, to be a shepherd in the fields that night! The praise of angels heralding the birth of God With Us must have caressed their ears like no other sound on earth. Did they eventually forget the majestic tones? Perhaps they re-lived it in their dreams? I don’t believe that one could hear the sound of angelic praise and not be forever changed. I long to hear that sound – the sound heard by lambs in the field that night. The lambs knew praise when they heard it. Did they praise, too?
My praise cannot compare to that of the angelic host. Even my best words of adoration and gratitude are gritty, cold, and lame in comparison. Yet You hear them and You accept them, gladly. So I lift my heart to You. It is swollen with great joy as I recall the blessed event of the birth of Jesus. I praise You as the Father who sent Your Son away from Your side, away from His heavenly home, and I praise the Son who loved me so much that He went.
Jesus said to them: “Suppose one of you has a friend and goes to him at midnight and says to him, “Friend, lend me three loaves of bread because a friend of mine on a journey has come to me, and I don’t have anything to offer him. Then he will answer from inside and say, ‘Don’t bother me! The door is already locked, and my children and I have gone to bed. I can’t get up to give you anything.’ I tell you, even though he won’t get up and give him anything because he is his friend, yet because of his friend’s persistence, he will get up and give him as much as he needs. So I say to you, keep asking, and it will be given to you. Keep searching, and you will find. Keep knocking, and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and the one who searches finds, and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened. What father among you, if his son asks for a fish, will give him a snake instead of a fish? Or if he asks for an egg, will give him a scorpion? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who Ask Him?” Luke 11:5-13
My words…
Prayer for me
When my children were young, they often asked me for the same thing over and over again. I found it to be very wearisome. I reminded them that it wasn’t necessary to keep asking – I heard it the first time. But they reasoned I would forget. (I often forgot things – You well know.) When it came to responding to the needs and wants of my children, their specific request held very little weight. I had already decided what they would get, and my decision was based on several factors of which they were unaware. They were too young to understand. As I contemplate our relationship (I the child, You the Father), I praise You for encouraging me to be persistent in bringing my requests before You. I needn’t be concerned that You will find my persistence wearisome. I may keep asking You for the same thing day after day, year after year, and You will hold those requests in Your heart until such a time as You see fit to grant them. How often have I asked for a deeper faith, searched for spiritual understanding, knocked for true wisdom? And You have given to me from Your storehouses. I had an inkling of how to give to my children, but You are the Supreme Giver. You know how to give the very best gift because You are the very best gift. Your Spirit, freely living in me, is the answer to my prayers because through You, I grow in faith, knowledge, and wisdom. Since we’re on the subject of persistence, I would like to take this opportunity, yet again, to ask for another measure of You in me. And I plan to keep on asking, and asking, and asking.
Happy are the people whose strength is in You, whose hearts are set on pilgrimage. Psalm 84:5
My words…
About this time of year, I bring Mr. and Mrs. Pilgrim out of the attic and set them on my mantle. They’re small wooden figures carved to look like the Separatists who fled persecution by the Church of England in the 1600s. I doubt, though, that they resemble the exhausted, seasick, anxious lot who hobbled off the Mayflower, looking for a place to build a new life. You know each of them by name. You heard their urgent prayers for deliverance. Their hearts burned to worship You in a way they believed was true. Since they couldn’t find it at home, they tucked their Geneva Bibles under their arms and journeyed to the New World. You called Your chosen Israelites to be pilgrims three times a year – journey to the tabernacle or temple to worship You in that special place because the person who sets out on a pilgrimage is not the same person who returns. I’m not sure it’s the worship experience at the end that transforms the pilgrims more than the journey itself. What happens along the way, the dangers and the joys, are transformational.
Like the Separatists and the Israelites, I’m a pilgrim. My feet travel the highway to deliverance, to freedom, to heavenly worship. Thank You for blessing my journey thus far. Joy beyond measure awaits me when You greet me in the New World.
Now if any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives to all generously and without criticizing, and it will be given to him. But let him ask in faith without doubting. For the doubter is like the surging sea, driven and tossed by the wind. That person should not expect to receive anything from the Lord. An indecisive man is unstable in all his ways. James 1:5-8
My words…
Praise
You are the only source of true wisdom, the wisdom that keeps me walking down the center of the path of righteousness. It is a perfect wisdom which encompasses every aspect of life no matter the period of history. It is ageless, unchanging, and precious. It is cool water on a hot day. It is the warm hug during grief. It is restful sleep during tribulation. It is resolution after query. It is order during chaos. Blessed is the one who is confident that true wisdom cannot be found in the stars, in fortune cookies, in newspaper columns, in crystal balls. Blessed am I who stands in the beam of Your enlightening wisdom.
Prayer for me
The surprising thing is not that You give generously to those who ask, it’s the fact that I don’t think to ask nearly enough. I’m like a starving woman who is too preoccupied to sit at the table and eat. The comfort that comes from knowing how to hold up under the weight of suffering or how to counsel my children or how to keep my spiritual balance in a shifting, tilting world should compel me to be in a constant state of wisdom request. There are times when I believe I’m pretty wise already, which is glittering proof of how foolish I truly am.
Forgive me
I should be at the point in my life when doubting in You should not be taking up words in my prayers. But here I am again, asking You to forgive my doubt. There are times when my spiritual armor is fastened on tightly, and my feet are firmly planted on the Rock. And then there are times when I am a wave being tossed and driven by the wind, wondering if You even hear my prayers and meditations. So weak am I. Forgive my spiritual instability.
Thank You
Thank You for sharing Your wisdom with me, an undeserving daughter. You never criticize my request although You have every right to. No. You just answer it. And Your generosity is a manifestation of Your love and goodness. For all of this I am humbly grateful.
More praise
There is no worldly wisdom which can compare. Holy, pure, generous, and loving is the One who offers it. Prudent, humble, and obedient is the one who claims it.
Now a man was sick, Lazarus, from Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. Mary was the one who anointed the Lord with fragrant oil and wiped his feet with her hair, and it was her brother, Lazarus, who was sick. So the sisters sent a message to Jesus: “Lord, the one you love is sick.” When Jesus arrived, he found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb four days. Many of the Jews had come to Mary and Martha to comfort them about their brother. When Mary came to where Jesus was and saw Him, she fell at His feet and told him “Lord, if You had been here, my brother would not have died!” When Jesus saw her crying and the Jews who had come with her crying, He was angry in His spirit and deeply moved. “Where have you put him?” He asked. “Lord,” they told Him, “come and see.” Jesus wept. John 11:1-3, 17, 19, 32-35
My words…
Praise
Jesus, of all of the events of Your time dwelling among humans, I find this to be one of my favorites. Expressed within the words of this sad occasion is an action that refreshes my spirit every time I read it: You cried. Your tear ducts filled up, and the tears leaked down Your cheeks. When You stood among those grieving the loss of a brother and friend, You felt their loss. But I wonder if it was something more since You knew their sadness would turn to joy within a few moments when You would resurrect Lazarus from the tomb. Did You grieve the loss of human innocence and perfect communion with God in Eden? Did you grieve the deception of Satan and his evil impact on humankind since then? Did You cry because You hate death and are so weary of witnessing grief? Whatever the reason, I am glad You wept. You are the God whose tender heart aches when His children suffer.
Prayer for the grieving
So many grieving souls are crying as I write this prayer. Someone they love is dying. They are “cried out.” Their tear ducts are over-worked and tired. They wake in the morning and remember their grief, wishing it was just a bad dream. It is difficult for them to see beyond their suffering. Comfort them, Lord. You have lived through the same pain. Draw them close to You and carry their sorrows.
Prayer for the dying
Lord, only You know the days I have left to live on this beautiful earth. But there are those who know their lives are numbered not in years, but in days and months. You know how they feel. You knew when Your days and hours on earth were drawing to a close. You chose to vanquish death. You longed to be reunited with Your Father. You had been with Him before; You knew what to expect. Soothe the anxious hearts of those who know not what to expect. Calm the spirits of those who dread leaving the ones they love, even as they long for Paradise. My hope is that when they see You, You will be crying – tears of joy.
In those days John the Baptist came, preaching in the Wilderness of Judea and saying, “Repent, because the kingdom of heaven has come near!” For he is the one spoken of through the prophet Isaiah, who said: A voice of one crying out in the wilderness: Prepare the way for the Lord; make His paths straight! John himself had a camel-hair garment with a leather belt around his waist, and his food was locusts and wild honey. Then people from Jerusalem, all Judea, and all the vicinity of the Jordan were flocking to him, and they were baptized by him in the Jordan River as they confessed their sins. Matthew 3:1-6
My words…
Praise
You chose John, before he was born, to be the Herald of God. What an honor, to be the one to share the news that every child of Abraham had been waiting to hear. He knew exactly how to do it. He had read about himself in Isaiah and Malachi! He set himself apart from everyone else around him: he dressed in strange clothes, ate unappetizing food, and hung out in desolate places. But, lo, people flocked to see him, to hear him. You gave him a simple message directed to a specific audience: Israel! Get yourselves cleaned up! The King is coming! You knew Israel was not ready. It was a grimy nation, having committed all manner of sin. Yet the repentance of Israel was sought on a personal level when men and women asked, “How do I get clean? Tell me what to do.” And John did. So when the precious Lamb of God arrived on the scene, many were clean and ready. John stretched out the crooked path and made it straight for the King. You called him to do it, and he obeyed.
Prayer for me
From this passage, Your Spirit has taught me that I have a message to share just as John, the Herald of God: Get ready! The King is coming back! The pest control man who comes to my house writes scripture passages on his receipts – he’s a herald. The daycare worker who sends a child home singing, “Jesus loves me” – she’s a herald. It doesn’t take living in a field, wearing fur, and eating bugs. It just takes a heart overflowing with the desire to share my joy with others. Forgive me when I get preoccupied with worldly day-to-day stuff and lose sight of the reason for my joy and neglect to share it with others. Give me the strength of spirit to help stretch out the crooked path and make it straight for the coming of the King.
Prayer for others
There are so many lost souls around me. Some have closed their ears to a herald, but not all. Your Spirit is constantly at work in the hearts of those who are seeking You. I pray they will be drawn to ask, “What must I do to welcome the King when He comes again?” And when they hear the answer to that question, they will be drawn to a never-ending source of peace.
More praise
There are so many things in life to look forward to: the change of seasons, re-connecting with an old friend, reading a good book, hearing the laughter of children, feasting with family and friends, watching the sun set. I could go on and on. But none of these compares to the anticipation of the arrival of the Son of God in all of His glory. The herald’s cry will ring throughout the earth: THE KING IS HERE!
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.
Then David praised the Lord in the sight of all the assembly. David said, May You be praised, Lord God of our father Israel, from eternity to eternity. Yours, Lord, is the greatness and the power and the glory and the splendor and the majesty, for everything in the heavens and on earth belongs to You. Yours, Lord, is the kingdom, and You are exalted as head over all. Riches and honor come from You, and You are the ruler of everything. Power and might are in Your hand, and it is in Your hand to make great and to give strength to all. Now therefore, our God, we give You thanks and praise Your glorious name. 1 Chronicles 29:10-13
…for every animal of the forest is Mine, the cattle on a thousand hills. I know every bird of the mountains, and the creatures of the field are Mine. If I were hungry, I would not tell you, for the world and everything in it is Mine. Psalm 50:10-12
My words…
Praise
In the spring, I bought a hibiscus plant, a bag of potting soil, and a pot. I planted the hibiscus in the pot, watered it, and watched it grow. It’s lovely. But it’s not mine. When guests come to my house and admire my hibiscus, I say, “Oh, thank you.” What I should say is, “Oh, it’s not mine. It’s God’s.” I mistakenly believe that I actually own stuff. I don’t. It’s all Yours – on loan to me. You gave me a house to use as You would use it. My precious children are Yours – gifts for me to raise as You would raise. My aging body is not even mine. You indwell it. It’s Yours. Now for the intangibles: All of the greatness of Your creation belongs to You – the greatness of space, of man’s innovation, of government and law, of amnesty and peace accords, my greatness (my ability to think and grow). All power is Yours – the power of weapons, of titles, of nations, of corporations, of fame, my power. (If I withheld water from my hibiscus, it would die. That is power.) All glory is Yours – the glory of family, of birds’ nests, of funerals, of hymns, my glory. (I am a child of Yours, made in Your image.) All splendor is Yours – the splendor of art, of waterfalls, of joyful tears, of friendship, my splendor (my robe, white as snow). All majesty is Yours – the majesty of eagles, of canyons, of cathedrals, of rainbows, my majesty. (I am a daughter of The King.) I praise Your glorious name.
Prayer for me
I enjoy making things. I gather raw materials and turn them into useful or decorative objects. I take words and weave them into stories and prayers. But these “things” are not creations, for to create something I must make something from nothing (like You do). You supply the raw materials, so even what I make myself is not mine. I am a selfish being. One of the first words I learned to say, after mama and dada, was mine. Help me embrace and be comforted by the wonderful truth that absolutely nothing is mine.
Forgive me
Forgive me for grasping tightly onto what I think I own. It’s a pride issue. Surely I can take care of this person better than You. I worked really hard for this – it’s mine. Hands off. With Your forgiveness and strength, I will be at peace when I release my grip on those “things” I hold dear.
More praise
My Spirit twirls at the thought that one day You will return and gather up what is Yours. On that day I will no longer care about my house, and my stories, and my hibiscus. I will be rejoicing that I am among those whose name tag reads Yours.
You must not oppress a foreign resident; you yourselves know how it feels to be a foreigner because you were foreigners in the land of Egypt. Exodus 23:9
Dear friend, you are showing faithfulness by whatever you do for the brothers, especially when they are strangers. 3 John 5
My words…
Praise
From a child, I was taught to be wary of strangers. Don’t talk to strangers. Don’t take candy from strangers. Decades later, those words still echo in my mind when I am approached by someone I don’t know. (Except for the candy part. I think I would take candy from anyone.) Jesus, You sought out twelve strangers to hang out with for the final three years of Your earthly life. You called to a stranger who had climbed a tree to see You better and invited Yourself to his house. You healed strange, contagious people who called out to You, begged You, and grabbed You. But then again, were they really strangers to You? To the wholly man, they were, but to the wholly God, they weren’t. You knew their hearts, their intentions. But that never stopped You from healing the ungrateful or teaching the stone-hearted. But one thing is for sure: You were a stranger to them, and many treated You thus. You, the God of creation being treated as a stranger within what You created. That must be the reason You loved every stranger: You knew how it felt to be a “foreigner” in a land in which You knew the number of leaves on every tree.
Prayer for me
Just as I was taught to take care around strangers, so was I taught to practice kindness to all. But there is a difference between my kindness to strangers and Your compassion for them. That is what I lack. I smile and say hello, but I don’t care to know about their cares and struggles. It’s just too much of a burden for me. Their concerns may take up too much of my time. And so I pray – fill me with compassion for the strangers I move among. Remove the selfish film from my eyes so I may see them as You would see them.
Forgive me
There are so many blessings I embrace by being a child of Yours. You offer peace during my times of stress, rest when I am life-weary, joy in the most unlikely places. But what is most precious to me is Your unfailing, never-ending forgiveness. It wouldn’t be as precious if I never messed up. But I do mess up. All the time. And so I need forgiveness. All the time. Today I ask Your forgiveness for my lack of compassion, especially to strangers. Forgive me for my apathetic attitude. Forgive me for not practicing what You teach.
Prayer for others
What I have learned about being a stranger has taken place the last few years when I left the white fields of snow for the white fields of cotton. I don’t think “smoke” should be a flavor of meat and collard greens are just not edible. I live among those who use words like “win-der” instead of “window.” I am the stranger here. But I do not suffer ill treatment because of it. There are millions around the globe who have been displaced from their homes. They live in camps and shanty towns, in makeshift homes or tents. They are persecuted, ravaged, and murdered because they are foreigners. They are truly strangers. Protect them, Lord. Send comforters and liberators. Send people whose hearts are more compassionate than mine.
More praise
To the rolling hills, tumbling streams, and majestic mountains, You are no stranger. The blue jay, mountain lion, and white shark know You by name, as does every demon. And You are not a stranger to me. I may not know You as well as the oceans do, but I know You well enough to recognize Your hand in my life. And the one thing that fully sustains my spirit, that fills my heart with indescribable joy, is the surety that I am not a stranger to You.
