This morning, one of the last warm days in the foreseeable future, I took my yellow pup on a walk. We wandered to the green belt in our neighborhood, a little piece of woods and stream in the middle of our suburban community.
It was bare and scratchy and brown but the perfect place to do a little battle. The refrain from Jenn Johnson’s “Our Father” kept whispering in my mind, so I turned on the song loud.
Let Heaven come…
And in the middle of a Tuesday morning, our walk turned into a prayer march. A battle for all of my family and friends who are embroiled in sickness, depression, grief, in wrestling with hard human conditions and questions nobody can predict or understand.
Let Heaven come.
When Jesus died on the cross and rose from the dead, he did an important work in between. When he ascended into heaven, he left us the Holy Spirit, giving us access to this powerful, comforting, guiding, protecting, joy-filled, interceding, inexplicable force until he returns to earth.
So on a Tuesday morning in between work meetings and grocery pickup and wiping noses–in the chaos of rush-hour, in the middle of nature, or face-down on the only clear stretch of carpet in the house, we can do powerful battle.
We can speak life, healing, clarity, bravery, and joy
For a long time, I didn’t think this was something I could do. I thought it took some special standing with the Lord that I was still trying to meet the qualifications for. But it’s not about where we fit the bill or fall short. It’s not about us at all. It’s not a special inner circle but about a Father to whom we very much belong. It’s about drawing close to Jesus, drawing from his boldness to allow him to use us.
It’s not about how long the transformation sticks this time or how long it takes for our human propensities to rear their ugly heads. It’s about trudging through the mud to keep moving toward the Father. It’s about realizing He never left. It’s about allowing his truth to sing louder than the voices and doubts.