pray

via Pintrest

Lord, teach us to pray. 

simple words. a simple request from humble men following yet another humble Man

Messiah.

and yet, so much weight in this simple appeal. 

teach us to approach. 

it is like standing on the bank of a river. unknown beneath the surface, so much greatness yet unseen. but its power is known. 

a little girl's plea to the father on the other side. 

poppy, teach me to swim.  

i know this cry all too well. 

come to Me, dearheart.

don't be afraid. 

and then i see that bridge. the one He built for me, the way to come to Him. 

that steady path called prayer. 

and i can cross it on my knees to fall at the pieced feet of my Abba who waits to hear His daughter's call. 

sometimes i walk with strongest confidence. other times, it is with trembling hands and unworthy quaver. 

will He take this alabaster jar, full to overflowing with my tears and love?

i fall at His feet.

and i discover 

my carpenter Daddy has laid my way. 

approach with confidence, Daughter. 

you are loved.

But I will not tell you how long or short the way will be; only that it lies across a river. But do not fear that, for I am the great Bridge Builder. ~Aslan, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader 

Drift

Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And around about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott...

...and as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott. ~Lord Tennyson

I wish I could lie down in a boat and drift away.

Perhaps not to the tragic end that Tennyson's Camelot-based heroine found, but still.

The idea of lying back in a small wooden boat and floating down the river, as if in preparation for a funeral pyre being set adrift upon the shimmering surface of the water...

...it has always appealed to me.

Perhaps it is the romantic in me.

Maybe I am more like Anne of Greene Gables than I would like to admit.

Perhaps it is the tranquility of the journey itself.

Being surrounded by nothing but the whispers of the flowing water and the soft trills of songbirds in the trees, the gentle swaying of the boat lulling me into a state of peaceful sleep...

...what writer would not wish for such an adventure?

What poet would not be drawn to such a picture?

Oh, what dreams linger in such magical ideas.

So now I will lie down in my bed, close my eyes...

...and allow my mind to carry me away on the rippling waters of dreams and imagined wishes.

Tonight...

...I drift away.