How To Move God

I played in your land, Oh Lord, scoring the trail with my aggressive tread and steal steed. My bike lunged, wheelied and billygoated up and up. I pushed through switchbacks, laughing for the sheer dominance of man over earth. I laughed for the sheer joy of man communing with earth.

I jeeprolled through the swollen creek, muddy with summer rain, and fell into the water atop river rocks and salamanders—and I hollered and spoke out damnation on the trail. I hollered and spoke out blessing on the trail. I climbed Heart-attack Hill praying out loud while the spike-deer running next to me taunted me with graceful leaps.

And the prayer lifted, coming regular off my lips like friendship conversation, pub-like and frolicking, loving just the moment of sharing and the moments of laughing. I called out to you, "Change this reality. And, Lord, you can do this." I wasn't struck down for blasphemy. Instead joy sprung from my brazen, yet thankful, words.

I was not silent in my prayer. In the open, my words fell. The laurel heard me and rustled. The spike-deer bounded back into the trees to tell his brethren. And we all of us raised our spirits. Oh, the wonder of hearing words spoken to God. The sheer 'YAWP' of our faith, of my faith.

Am I barbaric, in the woods yelling out strange requests to God? Do I revel in something profane when I splash around in the mud and sing praise at the same time?

I am convinced we pray, not to change ourselves, but to change reality. We cannot bend God to us, yet he condescends to our offering of prayer. And he moves in our reality. He bends things to his righteous ones.

Are you hurting? Pray. Do you feel great? Sing. Are you sick? Call the church leaders together to pray and anoint you with oil in the name of the Master. Believing-prayer will heal you, and Jesus will put you on your feet. And if you’ve sinned, you’ll be forgiven—healed inside and out.

Make this your common practice: Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you can live together whole and healed. The prayer of a person living right with God is something powerful to be reckoned with. Elijah, for instance, human just like us, prayed hard that it wouldn’t rain, and it didn’t—not a drop for three and a half years. Then he prayed that it would rain, and it did. The showers came and everything started growing again. (James 5:13-18, The Message)

Can I, Lord, be righteous for one day? Can you hear my prayer? It rises on thanksgiving and glows into the heavens with petition. I need you to stop the rain. I need you to bring the deluge. I need you, I need you.

In my prayers I find delight. I fold it back and find you—the joy of my salvation. I am carving up this trail of life with my big wheels of hope and faith. You bend for me and all I can do is sing.

The Prayer Series // Cutting Your Own Path

I bumped around the corners of the kitchen, wheeling my bike through the back door and onto the deck. With my peanut butter and honey sandwich, my mini Moleskine and my riding gloves I set out on my rise-ride.

I arrived at the trailhead just before dawn. The woods, empty. Normally I'd ride in the quiet of the morning. But all week I had been listening to The Pilgrim's Regress by C.S. Lewis. I continued listening to the audio book. After I plugged in my headphones, I tore off into the trees.

John, the main character in Lewis's allegory, is on a journey. He hopes to find an island far to the west. But the journey winds it's way through allegorical valleys and side-trails and rough roads and cities—all representing varying philosophical influences of the times.

I descended Hare Trail with a "Woohoo!" and some whoopdeedoos. When I started climbing again, after the creek crossing, my mind wondered.

Like John we all of us journey onward. I suppose for most of us we too seek the shining island of heaven—experiencing it now already a bit, perhaps, and still not yet. And, like John we each must confront the Spirit of the Age. We must contemplate Wisdom and make decisions: Which path will lead me to the island?

But I wonder how many of us create our own pathways—also called bushwhacking. Are bushwhacking our way through this life? What about our jobs? Do we seek to leverage our way to the top? Beat the system by manipulating it for our own success?

John's problem was he was unconvinced in his own mind. His journey was a path to belief. But as brothers and sisters in Christ, belief is behind us really, and always before us. Our actions, the paths we take, the ones we create stretch out ever before us.

I flew down Fly Squirrel and looped back to White Tail Loop. I crossed the big stream and stood by the waterfall for a few moments. I Am the Way. The verse jumps out at me often. Yes, Christ is the way to salvation, to the island, but what does that imply regarding my business ethics? My family ethics? My political ethics?

As I loaded my bike on my Subaru my thoughts fluttered to prayer …

Jesus, help me on the trail. Strengthen me over the logs and obstacles and through the rivers and all the hard junk. Keep me on your path and forgive my bushwhacking ways.

Onward!