The day is beautiful and cool, a delight of mountain fall. Sounds of contruction began, I believe, around eight, sounds of construction meant to assuage a soul looking for solace through imposition and expenditure rather than through meditation and quiet. There are indeed people who see the mountains as a quiet place, and their reaction to such is to impose themselves. Like Christian College students who ‘rebel’ by having a drink, these same hearted people feel more within by making their mark. So, they see the calm and quiet and know only to yell and scream through various means. They taste and are drawn by the peace, but they do not know what to do with it, their own soul is clamoring so loudly, they have to be louder. Not simply through noise, but through patterns in which there is no rest within.
I know this, and am not really bothered. The neighbor has visited with his family twice in the last six ten months. He comes up once a month or so to meet with contractors. When he drives by, I know also to look for the contractor who he will consult about a ‘project’. This time I guess he found one and has proceeded to make changes which make an architecturally interesting house more blocky, more typical, expanding it in multiple ways when no one besides contractors ever visit. I’ve also noticed that like a circle in a pond when a stone is tossed in, this neighbor makes an appearance when confusion has arisen. There are people who are led by the Spirit, and there are those who, even though not evil themselves, respond to a different spirit, thinking they hear a spirit of light, but cannot tell Truth from Lies. A curious thing indeed.
My concerns are different. And I don’t mind the bother because it forces me inward. I shut the bamboo curtain, I put in ear plugs, I shut the window and light a candle.
I pray, and I pray, winding my way through the trails of the Spirit seeking solace for my soul which cries out for a nameless answer to an unknown situation.
I read Psalm 27 and find encouragement, another suggests Psalm 63 — a Psalm which I call the “waiting Psalm” because that’s always the word that stands out.
Thoughts of prophetic warnings against trusting Egypt and images of Jesus overturning tables in the Temple because there were those who sought profit off of worship fill my head.
I ponder, and sit, and I pray, finding myself unable to do anything else, called to pray in a way which I haven’t felt for a long time, and more unusually without any accompanying circumstance which gives purpose to the prayer.
I pray vague, and trust my groaning words are taken by the Spirit for insightful utterances.
I pray the swirling storms about resolve, and confusion which abounds all around is quieted and repulsed.
I pray for wisdom, in myself and wisdom in those who interact with me. I pray for light to shine, and angels sent to minister would overcome the prince of persia or whatever hinders.
I bypass the rational in which I usually dwell, and bathe more thoroughly in those so-called charisms which anoint my being yet only rarely are revealed.
I pray, and shall pray. For what purpose I don’t know, and may never.
There is only obedience. And today the task for me is to pray.