I’ve been in a season of transition for the past few months (in other words, I’m trying to figure out how to make a living without hating the process), and I decided yesterday (Sunday) to spend every evening I could at my church’s prayer room, which is open on most weekday evenings. I was hoping to get some insight about my career and sort some things out “upstairs,” but I got more than I expected in the best way possible: tonight felt like waking up from a long sleep, spiritually.
I’ve been to our prayer room many times over the past couple years, though definitely not as often or as regularly as I would have liked. Every time I was there, whether during an internship or as an excursion out of my “regular life,” I either felt like I was coming up for air after holding my breath after a long time, or like I was frantically trying to take a quick sip from a well in the middle of a desert. Clumsy analogies aside, I felt I was there to get something that would help me on my life’s journey, particularly a feeling of joy and fulfillment in the midst of a life that was far too hectic, disorganized, and confused.
I entitled this post “I remember this,” because that is precisely how I felt tonight, like waking up after a years-long stupor. What I remembered was the understanding of the house of prayer as a destination, rather than a quick filling station. I remembered the calling to a life of prayer and conscious intimacy with my Savior, and for the first time in a long time, that recollection did not arouse feelings of guilt, fear, or jaded cynicism.
This blog hasn’t been updated very frequently in the past six years, and to be honest, I haven’t been able to relate to the person who wrote these first blog posts for a long time. Tonight was the first glimpse of who I was a decade ago, underneath many layers of doubt and exasperation.
I remember what it means to be called as an intercessor (a person focused on prayer). I remember what it meant to have a life that’s not just about survival and making to the weekend/payday.