heart to heart

For me, prayer is a movement of the heart; it is a simple glance toward Heaven; it is a cry of gratitude and love in times of trial as well as in times of joy; finally, it is something great, supernatural, which expands my soul and unites me to Jesus. . . . I have not the courage to look through books for beautiful prayers.... I do like a child who does not know how to read; I say very simply to God what I want to say, and He always understands me."

- St Thérèse of Lisieux

In the recent months I started questioning myself whether or not I really knew how to pray. My ‘prayers’ – if you could call them prayers, that is, always consisted of disjointed phrases, or just a whirlwind of events happening in my mind, not necessarily logical I must add.

Time and again, I’d find myself veer off my conversation with God with mindless ramblings in my head then wonder what happened and second guess the quality of my prayer.

St Thérèse of Lisieux gives us an insight of what she thought prayer was. To her, it is something simple, sincere and without the demand of big, words spoken eloquently. They were the words of a child.

I remember I was always reluctant to lead a crowd in prayer. I had always thought that my prayers didn’t qualify to be heard by the wider public. They didn’t have the fancy words that others normally used, nor did they possess that fluency that people said them in. No, my prayers were disjointed, rather simple in nature and… short.

One thing I didn’t know back then was that big words don’t necessarily make good prayers. A prayer can have all that bang in it but without heart, it is as good as nothing. One could ramble on and on for hours but still end up like that Pharisee described in Luke 18:9-14.

St Germaine who was left in the barn by her stepmother spent countless nights shivering in her sleep praying the same few words over and over again – “Dear God, please don't let me be too hungry or too thirsty. Help me to please my mother. And help me to please you.” And it is through her sincerity of heart (not fancy words) that she grew in profound holiness in that cold barn.

As much as the conventional prayers consist of words and phrases, these shouldn’t be the things that define prayer. Prayer can be defined by the submission of one’s cares and joys to the One who is all loving. It can be the quiet whisper of the heart. It can be going through those distractive thoughts that pop up with the Lord.

I suppose prayer, being so many things, can be summed up in us making the choice to spend time with Him. Us allowing our Creator to hold us in His loving arms, allowing Him to look at us in the eye without running away.

And I guess that is all He wants of us – not lengthy or extravagant words, not coherent phrases, just the simpleness of our hearts and our desire to love Him and let Him love us without reservation.

I’m off to pray. How ‘bout you?

'Who do YOU say that I am?'

Today’s Gospel (24 September - Luke 9:18-22) features Jesus asking His disciples who the crowds said He was, then asking them who they thought He was. As Jesus asked His disciples this question, He too asks us today, ‘Who do you say that I am?’

Who do I say that He is?

Do I say that He is the King of kings, the Lord of lords? If so, why does He not seem to lord over all that I see, do and think?

Do I say that He is the Lover of my soul? If so, why am I spending so little time with Him?

Do I say that He is my best Friend? If so, why do I still feel lonely amidst the crowd? Why am I so dissatisfied with the company of those around me? What is this emptiness?

Do I say that He is first and foremost in my life? If so, why do I get up and busy myself first thing in the morning?

Do I say that He is a God who can do anything? If so, why do I find myself scoffing at the idea of myself walking on water? Why do I doubt His power in my life?

All these questions constantly heed me to rethink and ask myself, ‘who do I say Jesus is? Who is He in my life?’

At the end of the day, it boils down to two situations: one, I lie to myself and I lie to Him, declaring His absolute Lordship and Kingship over my life and my undying love for Him; or two, I admit the real position of Jesus in my life.

As much as I want to declare that He is King, He is Lord over my life; declare that I love Him first and foremost; declare that He is, always, and will be my best Friend; declare that I believe that He can move mountains, make me walk on water, pluck a tree and plant it in the ocean; I know I am lying to myself and lying to Him.

Therefore, there is only one solution: tell Him that He is not first and foremost in my life. Tell Him that He is not my best Friend. Tell Him that He is not King of kings and Lord of lords in my life. Tell Him that He isn’t the Lover of my soul. Tell Him that I don’t believe He can do anything.

And tell Him that I want Him to be everything I said He isn’t.

This is when I know I have to get down on my knees and offer up the inadequacies of my faith in Him and ask Him to help me with my unbelief (Mark 9:24). There is nothing I can offer but a heart that wants to love Him, a heart that wants to believe.

So dear Lord, help me.

Being still

I don't often talk about what sins I confess in the Sacrament of Reconciliation. But I have to admit that one sin that I find myself consistently confessing is that I have great difficulty in finding that quiet time to sit with God, and actually focusing on Him.

I always blamed it on my 10-second attention span. But with every excuse, there is an expiry date by which you would be expected to come up with some sort of resolution to the issue. I’d say that excuse of mine has long past its expiry date.

I still don’t understand why I find so much difficulty in sitting in silence. I find my mind wandering not long after positioning myself to attempt to hear His voice loud and clear. Then again, part of me just hasn’t been trying at all – mostly because it doesn’t appeal to me – you know, sitting and doing nothing.

With my life up in a mess, swamped with tests and tough conceptual course material, I can’t help but realise that the only refuge is in the still presence of our Lord.

Then I come back to the question, but how? How can I sit still and listen to Him without my mind speaking louder than Him? How can I grab those thoughts of my next meal by the reins and say “Stop, listen”?

Part of me wonders whether it’s the lack of love I have for Him which makes sitting quietly in His presence so unappealing. Another part of me says that the time is better spend elsewhere – such as figuring out those tough concepts, or working out those confusing equations.

At the end of the day, I find myself knee-deep in this mess, wondering why I didn’t do the right thing – at least trying to listen to Him. And this happens the next day, and the next, and the next.

I suppose this is just to say that if any of you out there feel this way, you’re not alone. Perhaps our brothers and sisters who have grasped this wonderful art may give us a tip or two?