cold souls

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"Are you a writer?"
"Yes." I answered faster than I meant to; I wanted to see if it felt like a lie or the truth. I was sitting on the beach early one morning with a few books and when the stranger asked me, I had been writing in my journal about learning how to pray. Or, about the struggle to keep up the practice of prayer. The previous Sunday in my sermon, I told a story about learning to pray one summer when I worked cruising timber in Jasper, TX. First I prayed in my off time, then while I worked. I had a  deep sense of connection at the end of that summer. After I preached, I feared that I was depending too much on the experience of that summer, over 10 years ago. Where is my story of deep connection from last year? Or from today?

When I write, I pray. When I play music, I pray. Even when I ride my bike, I am praying. It's the not doing sort of prayer that I struggle with the most. The sitting still with no tools, not even a prayer book; just stillness and awareness of God's presence. There's a surrender that is freeing, but it takes discipline to let go; it takes practice.

The stranger caught me praying with my pen and paper not long after sunrise; after they crawled out of a tent further up the beach. His daughter was learning to walk. What a wonderful place to learn to walk. She fell down in the sand a few times, and pushed herself back up again; to everyone's delight.

   What a cold and natural thrill to
   be learning to walk on sand:
   where cool waves rush in 
   and shock those tender souls.

That's my deep story of connection from today. 

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