Category: May

A Prayer about Waiting for Jesus’ Return  

Be dressed ready for service and keep your lamps burning, like servants waiting for their master to return from a wedding banquet, so that when he comes and knocks they can immediately open the door for him. It will be good for those servants whose master finds them watching when he comes. Truly I tell you, he will dress himself to serve, will have them recline at the table and will come and wait on them.
(Luke 12:35–37 NIV)  

King Jesus, through the years I’ve suffered through some horrible teaching about your second coming, most of which generated self centered fear, gospelless speculation, and political sensationalism. That’s hardly what you had in mind when you charged us to watch and wait for your return. But this morning, as I meditate on this passage, much of the rubbish and rubble is cleared away. 

Jesus, I’ve never been less anxious and more ready for your return, but only because of a growing understanding of the gospel. I’m already wearing the right clothes— the wedding garment of your perfect righteousness. I’m no longer afraid of your return. I very much want you to come back— my loving bridegroom. The oil in my lamp will never run dry, for you’ve sealed me as your own and have sent the Spirit to dwell in my heart forever. 

Because the gospel is true, I’m ready for service in two ways. First of all, I’m ready for you to serve me. According to the Scriptures, when you return, you will have us, your bride, “recline at the table,” and you will come and wait on us. Jesus, this is simply overwhelming to ponder. I believe it, but help me believe it more. 

What wondrous love is this, indeed! All you’ve ever done is serve your people, Jesus— in creation, by your incarnation, in your crucifixion, your resurrection, your ascension, and your heavenly intercession. 

Secondly, as I consider all the ways you serve us, Jesus, I have a renewed passion to serve you and to serve with you as you gather your bride from among the nations and as you are busy making all things new. Whose feet do we wash today? Where are you setting prisoners free? Where are you bringing your kingdom of redemption? I pray with gratitude, in your loving name.

Amen. 

A Prayer about Patience, Pits, and Praise  

I waited patiently for the Lord;
he turned to me and heard my cry.
He lifted me out of the slimy pit,
out of the mud and mire;
he set my feet on a rock
and gave me a firm place to stand.
He put a new song in my mouth,
a hymn of praise to our God.
Many will see and fear the Lord
and put their trust in him. (Ps. 40:1–3 NIV)

Heavenly Father, my heart goes out today to those whose feet are in the mud and mire of various slimy pits— friends whose weariness is growing and whose patience is growing thin. The initial adrenaline rush that came after the flood is gone. Now there are long lines, red tape, looming decisions, limited resources, and short fuses. Breathe, O breath of God; send the winds of heaven. We need agement, wisdom, and strength. 

Father, I pray both for those needing a lift from “the pit” and for the lifters, for those needing help and for the helpers. We’re all in need of what you alone can give. 

You’ve never commanded anything without supplying the grace to obey your commands, and you’ve never made an empty promise. So when you command us not to become weary in doing good, and when you promise us a guaranteed harvest at the proper time (Gal. 6:9), I take you at your Word. I will wait patiently for you, Lord— patiently, expectantly, and gratefully. 

Bring great glory to yourself, Father. Cause many to see and to put their trust in you as you continue to write multiplied stories of redemption and restoration. I’m not asking you to make the mud and the mire go away; just make the Rock, Jesus, more evident and beautiful to all. Cause our feet to stand upon Jesus, the only firm foundation in this life and the life to come, in times of great adversity, in times of great prosperity, and in all the in-between times. 

Fill our hearts and mouths with the new song of the gospel— hymns of praise to you, our loving and faithful Father. I pray in Jesus’ trustworthy and triumphant name.

Amen. 

A Prayer about the Enjoyment of Little Things  

So I commend the enjoyment of life, because there is nothing better for a person under the sun than to eat and drink and be glad. Then joy will accompany them in their toil all the days of the life God has given them under the sun. (Eccles. 8:15 NIV)

Gracious Father, the past few weeks have been incredibly demanding and depleting. I’m thankful you understand our frailties and our need for refreshment. If you never commanded Sabbath rest, I probably wouldn’t take it. And if you never commended the enjoyment of life, I’d go to the extremes of either taking simple joys for granted or worshiping pleasure altogether. 

So today, I’m slowing down enough just to say thank you— thank you for designing us for pleasure, for the experience of delight. Thank you for putting sensate responders and nerve endings in our bodies. You are glorified in our enjoyment. 

Thank you for intending that joy would accompany us in our work (often exhausting, thankless, and seemingly fruitless work) all the days you have given us under the sun. 

I praise you for the wet crunch of celery, the soothing texture of ice cream, the alluring aroma of baking bread. I praise you for my wife’s gentle kisses and my grandson’s infectious giggle. I praise you for the relaxing sound of ocean waves, the memory connecting music of the sixties, the well-timed greeting of a friend, and how good it feels to finish a jog and start a new book. I praise you for the permanent smile on the face of a dolphin, the never the same array of sunrises and sunsets, the precise ways you show up when I need you the most. 

Father, our ongoing work under the blazing sun has meaning because of the finished work of your beloved Son. Because the gospel is true, we can glorify you now and enjoy you forever. I pray in Jesus’ holy name.

Amen. 

A Prayer about Anxiety Casting  

Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you. (1 Pet. 5:7 NIV)  

Gracious Father, I slept well last night but I awoke restless, fitful, and anxious. I know you tell me not to be anxious about anything (Phil. 4:6), but I am. Sunrise has yet to happen, yet I’m already looking forward to moon rise. Thank you for freeing me from the pressure of pretending otherwise. At least I’m not anxious about surprising, embarrassing, or disappointing you. The gospel has taken care of that old bondage and slavery. 

What’s going on inside of me? There’s really nothing enormous looming on the horizon, no one major crisis staring me down, no boulder I’m assigned to push up a hill like Sisyphus. It’s just one of those Mondays when I find myself looking at seventeen little backpacks of needs, issues, and hurting hearts lined up at my front door, waiting to be picked up as I head into the week. 

So what will I do with my restless, fitful, anxious feelings? Father, I would surely despair if I didn’t really believe you care for me. That would be the one unbearable burden. But please help me know what anxiety casting actually looks like today and this whole week. 

Of these things I am certain: you’re not calling me to be the fourth member of the Trinity; I’m not the whole body of Christ; you do promise sufficient grace; you will give wisdom to those who ask; and your strength is made perfect in weakness— in my weakness. 

Show me which of the seventeen little backpacks I’m to pick up first. Which ones don’t really have my name on them at all? Which ones will just have to wait, as you give me grace not to dread disappointing people? As you have promised, please send your transcendent peace to guard my heart and mind in Christ Jesus (Phil. 4:7). I pray in Jesus’ trustworthy and treasured name.

Amen. 

A Prayer about the Pain of Broken Trust  

The Lord is on my side; I will not fear.
What can man do to me?
The Lord is on my side as my helper;
I shall look in triumph on those who hate me.
It is better to take refuge in the Lord
than to trust in man.
It is better to take refuge in the Lord
than to trust in princes.
(Ps. 118:6–9)

Lord Jesus, I’m just waking up, and though I’m yawning my way into your presence, you are fully alert and engaged. What a Savior you are! You never sleep or slumber; you never need a break or vacation; you’re never moody; you never get bored with us; you never roll your eyes and say, “When will they ever get it?” You will never look for greener pastures or better sheep. I praise you for the constancy of your love. 

Jesus, it’s because your love is so unwavering that you’re easy to trust. Only you can be fully trusted. I’m painfully aware of this truth as I lean into this day. I’d be lying if I didn’t acknowledge to you my disappointment and hurt this morning. Thank you for caring. 

As broken people, we fail one another. I get that. But the gospel’s not supposed to make us immune to the pain of bruised trust, broken trust, or battered trust. Broken confidences and broken promises still hurt, no matter who they come from, but certainly more when they come from the very people we should be able to trust.

“What can man do to me?” the psalmist asks (Ps. 118:6). Plenty, Jesus, plenty. But with you as our refuge, with you as our very present help, with you as our advocate, intercessor, sovereign Lord, and gracious Redeemer— with you as the only prince who can be trusted, the Prince of Peace— I don’t have to grow more angry, flint hard, and dangerously isolated. 

I bring my pain to you, Jesus. Hold me and help me deal with the betrayals. I pray in your singularly trustworthy name.

Amen. 

 A Prayer about Gospel Cover-Up  

Whoever covers an offense seeks love, 
but he who repeats a matter separates close friends. (Prov. 17:9)  

Jesus, rarely does the phrase “cover up” do anything but raise suspicion, eyebrows, and ire. We recoil when we experience the manipulation of facts, the minimization of harm, and the muting of our voices, especially in the face of blatant injustice. To be either an agent or victim of this kind of cover-up is never okay. 

That being said, there’s a stewardship of information— a way of handling one another’s failures, sins, and weaknesses— that requires a gospel heart. There is such a thing as a “gospel cover up,” and I want to be much better at it. So as I meditate on this Scripture, hear my confession and my prayers. 

Forgive me when I choose to uncover and use old offenses against my spouse, my children, or my friends just to win an argument, gain an advantage, or minimize my own sin. It’s as though I never really forgave them the first time. 

Forgive me when I repeat someone’s offense to another friend or a number of friends under the guise of seeking prayer, when in reality I’m just gossiping or perhaps even slandering people I claim to care about. How insecure and insidious is that? 

Forgive me when I keep uncovered and constantly rehearse the sins and offenses of others to myself— feeding my self-righteousness, fueling my anger, and fermenting my desire for revenge. That’s really ugly. 

Forgive me when I constantly repeat my own failures to myself— choosing to indulge my self-contempt and the accusations of Satan much more than I believe and relish the gospel. What a destructive way to do life, robbing you of much glory. 

Jesus, you are the greatest promoter of love ever, for by your blood you have once and for all covered up, covered over, and carried away my sins forever. You’ll never repeat my sinful matters to me or anyone else. How I praise you today for your great love for us! Continue to change my heart and channel my words, by your grace and for your glory and the good of others. I pray in your holy and kind name.

Amen. 

A Prayer about Praise Trumping Paranoia  

When Daniel knew that the document had been signed, he went to his house where he had windows in his upper chamber open toward Jerusalem. He got down on his knees three times a day and prayed and gave thanks before his God, as he had done previously. Then these men came by agreement and found Daniel making petition and pleas before his God. (Dan. 6:10–11)  

Heavenly Father, I am so drawn to the heart that beat in Daniel’s breast— a heart filled with praise for you, not paranoia about his life. He just learned of a decree that anybody praying to any other god or man but King Darius would become lions’ lunch. So what did he do? The same thing he’d been doing for decades in Babylon. The windows are open, his knees are bent, his gaze is set, and even be- fore he asks you for help, he offers you thanks. He’s neither paranoid nor presumptuous, but he’s most definitely at peace. 

What freedom, what beauty, what intimacy with you this aging son and servant of yours enjoyed. But why am I surprised? Haven’t you promised, “The righteous will flourish like a palm tree, they will grow like a cedar of Lebanon; planted in the house of the Lord, they will flourish in the courts of our God. They will still bear fruit in old age, they will stay fresh and green” (Ps. 92:12–14 NIV)?

Father, you never demanded that Daniel get on his knees three times a day. You didn’t have to— it was his delight. No government decree could keep him from praying to you, loving you, seeking you, worshiping you. He was much more committed to your eternal glory than to his personal survival. 

How much more should this kind of peace and praise mark my life, no matter what spiritual warfare looks like in my day, no matter how intense the clash between the kingdom of darkness and the kingdom of God gets. For even as “the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour” (1 Pet. 5:8), he’s a defeated foe. I live in the victorious day Daniel anticipated from afar. Indeed, your Son, “the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has triumphed” (Rev. 5:5 NIV). Jesus is the Lion with whom I want to be thoroughly preoccupied. 

Father, as I get older, please keep me fresh and green and fruitful through the gospel. Fill my heart with your glory and grace, and use me however you choose, all the remaining days you give me in this your world. I pray in Jesus’ magnificent and merciful name.

Amen. 

A Prayer about the Grossness of My Ingratitude  

[The older brother] was angry and refused to go in. His father came out and en- treated him, but he answered his father, “Look, these many years I have served you, and I never disobeyed your command, yet you never gave me a young goat, that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fattened calf for him!” And he said to him, “Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours.” 
(Luke 15:28–31)  

Forbearing Father, though I’d never boast about my many years of serving you and I’d never even think of boasting in my record of obedience to your commands, nevertheless, I do acknowledge that there are times when my ingratitude matches that of the older brother. This has become obvious to me lately, and I want to re- pent before it gets any worse. I do my best repenting not by groveling but by preaching the gospel to my own heart, so here goes. 

Father, you are constantly running to me in the gospel— inviting me, imploring me, pleading with me to get on the dance floor of your grace, to enjoy the music of reconciliation, to sing the songs of redemption, to make merry to the glory of God. You are constantly saying to my grumbling, complaining, discontented, self- righteous face, “My son, you’re always with me because I’m always with you. Nothing will ever separate you from the everlasting love I have for you and all my children. I greatly delight in you. I rejoice over you with singing. Everything I have is yours. All your sins are forgiven, including your gross ingratitude. I’ve declared you to be righteous in my beloved Son. I’ve hidden your life in his. I’ve begun a good work in you, and in my whole broken world, that I will bring to completion. I’ve made you a coheir of the new heaven and new earth. You are destined for an eternity of perfect relationships— perfect everything. Come, let us rejoice and be glad.” 

Father, I repent—but please don’t relent. Keep beating down my ungratefulness with the love offensives of the gospel. I pray in Jesus’ peerless and praiseworthy name.

Amen. 

A Prayer about Life in the Dead Places  

The hand of the Lord was on me, and he brought me out by the Spirit of the Lord and set me in the middle of a valley. . . . I saw a great many bones on the floor of the valley, bones that were very dry. He asked me, “Son of man, can these bones live?” I said, “Sovereign Lord, you alone know.” Then he said to me, “Prophesy to these bones and say to them, ‘Dry bones, hear the word of the Lord! This is what the Sovereign Lord says to these bones: I will make breath enter you, and you will come to life. I will attach tendons to you and make flesh come upon you and cover you with skin; I will put breath in you, and you will come to life. Then you will know that I am the Lord.’” (Ezek. 37:1–6 NIV)

Heavenly Father, I would do well to meditate on this portion of your Word once a month— no, make that at least once a week. For it “calls out” my unbelief, it con- fronts my complacency, it deconstructs every excuse I offer for giving up on difficult situations and people. 

So many churches, marriages, and hearts have become piles of dry, breathless bones. Vibrant green has become ashen gray. The music hasn’t faded; it’s gone. Selflessness has been supplanted with spite; desire got overgrown with weeds of disconnect, distrust, despair, and now, despisement. 

But it’s not Ezekiel who asks about the possibility of renewal, redemption, and restoration; it’s you, Father. It’s you! “Can these bones live?” you ask. The question is rhetorical, for you are the God of resurrection! I’ll not presume on the process, but I’ll trust in your promises. 

Father, for your glory alone, I ask you to breathe on the near and already bone dry marriages of a few dear friends. Where there’s no hope left, bring a fresh out pouring of affection from and for the great Spouse, Jesus. 

What but the love of Jesus can transform stubborn hearts into supple hearts, can replace mean with mercy, can supplant self-protective willfulness with gospel willingness? Who but Jesus can transform cold antipathy into kindhearted intimacy? Those are my rhetorical questions, Father, for I know of no other hope for cold marriages, dead churches, or hard hearts but Jesus and his great love lavished on us in the gospel. 

Indeed, Jesus, you are the resurrection and life. Today as I pray for these marriages, churches, and friends, and for myself, I’m not going to be preoccupied with looking at dry bones but with you, a living Savior. Bring life, your life, to the places of death. Restore to all of us the joy of your salvation, the hope of your resurrection, and a passion for your glory above everything else, including our own happiness. I pray in the tender mercies of your name.

Amen. 

A Prayer about God Comforting the Downcast  

For even when we came into Macedonia, our bodies had no rest, but we were afflicted at every turn— fighting without and fear within. But God, who comforts the downcast, comforted us by the coming of Titus.
(2 Cor. 7:5–6)  

Loving Father, this brief vignette from Paul’s life comes to me today like a well timed kiss from heaven, like a call from the right friend when you least expect it but most need it, like the first sign of daylight after a starless night. 

First of all, Father, I praise you for chronicling Paul’s experience of being rest- less, fearful, and downcast. Many times I suffer from “shouldness”: if I really loved you, if I were more full of the Holy Spirit, if I truly got the gospel, I “should” never feel downcast. I should only feel upbeat, on top of my game, and happy. 

It’s comforting to know the gospel doesn’t make me less human but simply more yours. Thank you for being a Father who doesn’t shame the downcast. You pursue them, you provide for them, you comfort them— you comfort me. 

As I begin this day, I feel like I’m swimming in a pool of baby piranha— no big sharks like Paul was dealing with, just small piranha nibbling at my spirit. I’m surrounded by a lot of little decisions, a lot of little needs, a lot of small conflicts, a lot of little unfinished projects, a lot of little things over which I have absolutely no control, and the combination of these things is weighing me down. 

I’ll not fight the piranha; I’ll just look for you. Indeed, Father, it’s so good to know you’re running toward me in the gospel right now, not with a furrowed brow but with a compassionate, merciful heart. And as you comfort me, I will seek to be a Titus for others. What a privilege it is to comfort others with the very comfort you bring to us in all our troubles (2 Cor. 1:3–4). I pray in Jesus’ name with great anticipation.

Amen.