I pray past my own heart. I do it all the time.
I hope I can continue to keep concealed from you what gets inside my heart. I experience envy. The dislike of people who seem to have things easier than I do rises within my heart, and I resent them for—I don’t know—just existing where I can see them.
I also delight in the misfortune of others. I feel relief when misfortune befalls someone—a sort of happiness, somehow—because when that particular spell of bad news entered the world, it didn’t land on me.
These things are in my heart. Selfishness, fear. They are pruned down sometimes, but the root still remains. You would not believe what is in my heart, what ugly things routinely blossom there. But then, that’s a lie, because I am hoping you would believe it. I am hoping that the hints I have heard are true—that everyone else has infected hearts, too.
I pray past my own heart because I know I am to pray for others—not just the ones I feel fondly about, but also enemies (Matthew 5:44), and also ones about whom no particular feeling rises.
I know I am to do this, because I believe. In addition to envy, anger, selfishness, and fear, I also have allowed belief into my heart. I have given my heart to belief—even though it is a broken heart over which weeds still flourish. The belief to which I’ve given it is very specific. In my heart, there is no single secret that better explains the universe and my own place within it than the resurrection of Christ. And there is no document that better explains Christ than the anthology of scriptures we call the Bible.
So I try as best as I am able to feed upon the Bible’s teachings. And some of the Bible’s teachings prove to be personal prophecies that I see fulfilled—as I watch the fruits of faith ripen in my own life, the fruits that come of finally surrendering to God’s easy and loving will instead of continuing to be hard on myself.
I also pray. And in prayer, I feel how much of my heart is still blackened, is still stone or ash. I feel it most of all in my attitudes toward other people. So as I am praying for one or another of these people, I sometimes must say: “Lord, ignore what my heart is saying about this person right now. Ignore it. I pray that you will comfort him and give him blessings, and that he will hear the voice of your love in his life and he will draw closer to you.”
I hope I can continue to keep concealed from you what gets inside my heart. I experience envy. The dislike of people who seem to have things easier than I do rises within my heart, and I resent them for—I don’t know—just existing where I can see them.
I also delight in the misfortune of others. I feel relief when misfortune befalls someone—a sort of happiness, somehow—because when that particular spell of bad news entered the world, it didn’t land on me.
These things are in my heart. Selfishness, fear. They are pruned down sometimes, but the root still remains. You would not believe what is in my heart, what ugly things routinely blossom there. But then, that’s a lie, because I am hoping you would believe it. I am hoping that the hints I have heard are true—that everyone else has infected hearts, too.
I pray past my own heart because I know I am to pray for others—not just the ones I feel fondly about, but also enemies (Matthew 5:44), and also ones about whom no particular feeling rises.
I know I am to do this, because I believe. In addition to envy, anger, selfishness, and fear, I also have allowed belief into my heart. I have given my heart to belief—even though it is a broken heart over which weeds still flourish. The belief to which I’ve given it is very specific. In my heart, there is no single secret that better explains the universe and my own place within it than the resurrection of Christ. And there is no document that better explains Christ than the anthology of scriptures we call the Bible.
So I try as best as I am able to feed upon the Bible’s teachings. And some of the Bible’s teachings prove to be personal prophecies that I see fulfilled—as I watch the fruits of faith ripen in my own life, the fruits that come of finally surrendering to God’s easy and loving will instead of continuing to be hard on myself.
I also pray. And in prayer, I feel how much of my heart is still blackened, is still stone or ash. I feel it most of all in my attitudes toward other people. So as I am praying for one or another of these people, I sometimes must say: “Lord, ignore what my heart is saying about this person right now. Ignore it. I pray that you will comfort him and give him blessings, and that he will hear the voice of your love in his life and he will draw closer to you.”
