One of the things I missed most during homelessness, was my "Prayer Closet." Yes, I'm one of those people. For certain, I found many, and varied, ways to privately converse with God. But, there is nothing quite like withdrawing to your own little personal haven to enter into His presence (I get butterflies just thinking about it).
My prayer closet was decked out! There were had candles and inspirational plaques. I had a huge throw pillow to kneel on while praying. A handmade crucifix, that I had constructed from two small pieces of wood gathered from the grounds of the St. Andrew's garden of stations, hung on the wall (It's makeshift ruggedness was imperfectly, flawless), draped over it was a beautiful strand of white rosary beads. I, of course, had a vintage (kjv) Bible, that my husband had given to me before he succumbed to complications of sickle cell. The space was, quite simply, an oasis to me.
Initially, my sacred time in the closet seemed a bit ceremonial, which, in and of itself, is not wrong; still I longed for a more intimate connection with God. Sometime around the year 2010, things began to evolve. Where before, I had purposefully, focused more on the "order of prayer," the Holy Spirit took control shifting me toward a much more spiritual realm of "thanksgiving." The more I thought about how good God had been to me, the more thankful I prayed. I would usually turn into one big, weeping mess of a puddle, often forgetting what I had intended to ask God for. It got to the point where I decided to list my petitions on paper. Albeit a futile effort. The paper would inevitably, end up soaked, which didn't matter anyway, because the words were already illegible through my tears. I was a hot mess. Yet, the beauty of simply entering into His presence with thanksgiving made every tear seem like diamond offerings.
I would often emerge from my prayer closet with my eyes red and swollen, and dried tear stains on my face, of the appearance of one who had been in an extended period of mourning. That's what I looked like on the surface, but on the inside, I had never, in my life, felt such peace in my spirit and newness of mind. I realized that it was during those intimate times with God, that my heart was most open. And just as promised, He poured his love, overflowing, into my heart and his Spirit, likewise upon me. Aaaaahhhhh . . . I sigh at the mere thought of it. How can you not love a God who welcomes you into His presence so lovingly?
While a prayer closet isn't required to honor God, it's one of those little things that makes time spent in His presence all the more rewarding. I am once again in a place where I can have a prayer closet.
Father thank You for renewed peace and for the beginning of a new thing. Yes and Amen.
My prayer closet was decked out! There were had candles and inspirational plaques. I had a huge throw pillow to kneel on while praying. A handmade crucifix, that I had constructed from two small pieces of wood gathered from the grounds of the St. Andrew's garden of stations, hung on the wall (It's makeshift ruggedness was imperfectly, flawless), draped over it was a beautiful strand of white rosary beads. I, of course, had a vintage (kjv) Bible, that my husband had given to me before he succumbed to complications of sickle cell. The space was, quite simply, an oasis to me.
Initially, my sacred time in the closet seemed a bit ceremonial, which, in and of itself, is not wrong; still I longed for a more intimate connection with God. Sometime around the year 2010, things began to evolve. Where before, I had purposefully, focused more on the "order of prayer," the Holy Spirit took control shifting me toward a much more spiritual realm of "thanksgiving." The more I thought about how good God had been to me, the more thankful I prayed. I would usually turn into one big, weeping mess of a puddle, often forgetting what I had intended to ask God for. It got to the point where I decided to list my petitions on paper. Albeit a futile effort. The paper would inevitably, end up soaked, which didn't matter anyway, because the words were already illegible through my tears. I was a hot mess. Yet, the beauty of simply entering into His presence with thanksgiving made every tear seem like diamond offerings.
I would often emerge from my prayer closet with my eyes red and swollen, and dried tear stains on my face, of the appearance of one who had been in an extended period of mourning. That's what I looked like on the surface, but on the inside, I had never, in my life, felt such peace in my spirit and newness of mind. I realized that it was during those intimate times with God, that my heart was most open. And just as promised, He poured his love, overflowing, into my heart and his Spirit, likewise upon me. Aaaaahhhhh . . . I sigh at the mere thought of it. How can you not love a God who welcomes you into His presence so lovingly?
While a prayer closet isn't required to honor God, it's one of those little things that makes time spent in His presence all the more rewarding. I am once again in a place where I can have a prayer closet.
Father thank You for renewed peace and for the beginning of a new thing. Yes and Amen.
