Friday Freelance: FAVORITES

I was recently asked if I'd do a post about my prayer closet. I'll lead in by sharing two other favorite places in my home.

Our front porch is about as humble as it can be and still qualify as a front porch. It's just big enough for the swing from which to sit and watch the world—whether rambunctious children, our resident robin feeding her babies, or a thunderstorm of lightning and torrential rain. It is a quiet sitting place to not even think, but to simply be still in summer months.

The cozy family room is a favorite place year round, but even more so in cold months when the wood stove makes Michigan tolerable. The wood floors provide a place to dance in this room reserved for people and music, books and writing. Music is more often from violin and piano than CD player, and neither T.V. nor internet exist here. Books are plentiful in either this room's four bookcases or the other nine sets of shelves in the house. My work space is nestled in one corner, flanked all around by yet more books, and situated below the names of Jesus on one side and a picture of the Old Testament tabernacle on the other.


This is a peaceful room for me, whether I'm settled at the computer set apart for writing and ministry, mesmerized by a fire, or waiting for the sun to rise above woods and field which lie outside the eastern window.

Dawn is the best and purest time of day. Though I'm usually awake then, I see few sunrises. In that hour I'm usually found in my first favorite place, on the west side of our home, adjacent that porch.

"But when you are praying, enter into your private closet,
and having shut your door, pray to your Father in secret.
And your Father, the One seeing in secret,
will give to you openly." ~ Matthew 6:6 (Author)

We live in a rural area, where only city folk who don't know better come to our front door. Since the 4' x 4' entry area is otherwise not utilized, it is closed off with a tapestry curtain as a private place for me to spend early morning hours with the Lord before my house awakens.

My goal is to "tithe" the first ten percent (2.4 hours) of the day to God. I'm no legalist though, and can easily get lost here for much longer—on the days I don't get sidetracked and then spend little or no time here at all.

This is the place to commune with the Lord's Word and Spirit. It's also the only place I seem to exhibit ADD, with or without the front door open to a view of the front porch. Whether provoked by my enemy or my own disquiet, stepping into this particular place of peace seems to release a torrent of concerns and distractions which can as easily become errant rabbit trails as paths for prayer.

Morning glories and roses prompt worship of the Creator. The corner of a police car which noses out beyond them reminds me of my husband's harsh task "to serve and to protect" in the violent world beyond our quiet front porch, and of his need to be upheld in prayer. Baby robins noisily pushing their mama with demands evoke thoughts of my own brood and the pushing between us.

My prayer journal calls to mind the multitude of ministries and people for whom I pray. Each person is special and each one is opportunity to see a miracle—and each one can become a story to mull over. Blank journal pages are readily filled with new insights and ideas for prose and prayer—or with the to-do tasks I jot down in an effort to push them aside.

The Bible covered with scribbled notations and crammed with notes is one I can no longer safely carry around, but it's perfect for remembering where I've been and discovering new places my life needs to go. Concordance and Hebrew / Greek dictionaries help me lose myself in God's Word—and thereby avoid the one thing I most look forward to and most dread in this little place.

I call it wrestling with the Lord for His blessing—giving myself fully to His grasp and letting Him have His way as I grapple with Him.

He never forces me to submit to His gentle yet insistent hold. Once I allow Him to catch me, my will seems no longer my own as He takes the lead in a tussling dance of souls, hearts, minds, and bowed physiques. Whether or not I emerge limping, I'll surely be wiping away tears when I walk
away from the encounter with more of Him and a better me.

Nothing else better qualifies as agony and ecstasy than wrestling with the Lord. No favorite place but a prayer closet can offer such rich blessing and such piercing pain.

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