Normalize Praying Quotes

That's what being shy feels like. Like my skin is too thin, the light too bright. Like the best place I could possibly be is in a tunnel far under the cool, dark earth. Someone asks me a question and I stare at them, empty-faced, my brain jammed up with how hard I'm trying to find something interesting to say. And in the end, all I can do is nod or shrug, because the light of their eyes looking at me, waiting for me, is just too much to take. And then it's over and there's one more person in the world who thinks I'm a complete and total waste of space. The worst thing is the stupid hopefulness. Every new party, every new bunch of people, and I start thinking that maybe this is my chance. That I'm going to be normal this time. A new leaf. A fresh start. But then I find myself at the party, thinking, Oh, yeah. This again. So I stand on the edge of things, crossing my fingers, praying nobody will try to look me in the eye. And the good thing is, they usually don't.

When I tried this morning, after an hour or so of unhappy thinking, to dip back into my meditation, I took a new idea with me: compassion. I asked my heart if it could please infuse my soul with a more generous perspective on my mind's workings. Instead of thinking that I was a failure, could I perhaps accept that I am only a human being--and a normal one, at that?

Happy couples make it a habbit to refocus. Because it's quite normal to be distracted. So they talk. They get away for a while. They pray. They go on a marriage retreat. They take a second honeymoon or a 3rd, or 4th, or a 5th..

I'm normally not a praying man, but if you're up there, please save me, Superman. Homer Simpson

The search for God is a reversal of the normal, mundane worldly order. In search for God, you revert from what attracts you and swim toward that which is difficult. You abandon your comforting and familiar habits with the hope (the mere hope!) that something greater will be offered you in return for what you have given up.. if we truly knew all the answers in advance as to the meaning of life and the nature of God and the destiny of our souls, our belief would not be a leap of faith and it would not be a courageous act of humanity; it would just be.. a prudent insurance policy.

People often come to me and ask me to pray for them, that they would discover God’s will for their life. I already know God’s will for their life – heal the sick, raise the dead, cast out devils, cleanse lepers. They say, ‘Yes, but I need to know if I should be a schoolteacher or a missionary.’ I say, ‘Well, just pick one, and then heal the sick, raise the dead, cast out devils, cleanse lepers.’ Or they will say, ‘I just don’t know whether I should be married or should be single.’ I reply, ‘What do you want to be?’ ‘I really want to be married.’ ‘Then get married... and heal the sick, raise the dead, cast out devils, cleanse lepers.

God has called us into a place of tenderness, when nobody is looking, when there are no great decisions to make, when it’s just him and me in a hotel room, with no one to pray for, no one to preach to. When it is just two people in a room, that’s where you learn. That’s where you learn his heartbeat. That’s where you learn the presence. That’s where you learn the voice. It’s in the moments when nobody is watching, nobody is evaluating how good you’re doing. When it is just you and him.

(On having being just proposed to) 'Have you been thinking of this for long?' she managed jerkily, praying for the shock to recede so that she could behave a little more normally. 'Let's say it crept up on me,' he suggested lightly. That didn't sound very romantic. Muggers crept up on you; so did old age.

All of us prayed for normal. But so far, normal only meant more misery.

Fasting is more about replacing than it is about abstaining — replacing normal activities with focused times of prayer and feeding on the Word of God.

And if he had returned mutilated, ugly, full of infection and horror, she would still have loved him; fed by pity, by a sharing of pain, she would love him even more, and even more, and she would never, never have prayed to God, please let him die if he can’t return to me whole and healthy and able to live a normal life . . . If he had died, she would have buried her heart with him.      So what the fuck is the matter with me?

Don't you want to find your purpose?' Lara glared at her. 'Right now my purpose is to get the hell out of here and then I'll figure the rest of it out the normal way; by drinking vodka. Or maybe I'll read Eat, Pray, Love all the way through...

The search for God is a reversal of the normal, mundane worldly order. In the search for God, you revert from what attracts you and swim toward that which is difficult. You are abandoning your comforting and familiar habits with the hope (the mere hope!) that something greater will be offered you in return for what you have given up.

The best bit of advice I ever received about how to pray was this: keep it simple, keep it real, keep it up.

I see things in windows and I say to myself that I want them. I want them because I want to belong. I want to be liked by more people, I want to be held in higher regard than others. I want to feel valued, so I say to myself to watch certain shows. I watch certain shows on the television so I can participate in dialogues and conversations and debates with people who want the same things I want. I want to dress a certain way so certain groups of people are forced to be attracted to me. I want to do my hair a certain way with certain styling products and particular combs and methods so that I can fit in with the In-Crowd. I want to spend hours upon hours at the gym, stuffing my body with what scientists are calling 'superfoods', so that I can be loved and envied by everyone around me. I want to become an icon on someone's mantle. I want to work meaningless jobs so that I can fill my wallet and parentally-advised bank accounts with monetary potential. I want to believe what's on the news so that I can feel normal along with the rest of forever. I want to listen to the Top Ten on Q102, and roll my windows down so others can hear it and see that I am listening to it, and enjoying it. I want to go to church every Sunday, and pray every other day. I want to believe that what I do is for the promise of a peaceful afterlife. I want rewards for my 'good' deeds. I want acknowledgment and praise. And I want people to know that I put out that fire. I want people to know that I support the war effort. I want people to know that I volunteer to save lives. I want to be seen and heard and pointed at with love. I want to read my name in the history books during a future full of clones exactly like me. The mirror, I've noticed, is almost always positioned above the sink. Though the sink offers more depth than a mirror, and mirror is only able to reflect, the sink is held in lower regard. Lower still is the toilet, and thought it offers even more depth than the sink, we piss and shit in it. I want these kind of architectural details to be paralleled in my every day life. I want to care more about my reflection, and less about my cleanliness. I want to be seen as someone who lives externally, and never internally, unless I am able to lock the door behind me. I want these things, because if I didn't, I would be dead in the mirrors of those around me. I would be nothing. I would be an example. Sunken, and easily washed away.

Before the Industrial Revolution, it was normal to divide the night into two periods of sleep: the “first sleep,” or “dead sleep,” lasting from the evening until the early hours of the morning; and the “second” or “morning” sleep, which took the slumberer safely to daybreak. In between, there was an hour or more of wakefulness known as the “watch,” in which “Families rose to urinate, smoke tobacco, and even visit close neighbors. Many others made love, prayed, and . . . reflected on their dreams, a significant source of solace and self-awareness.” In the intimacy of the darkness, families and lovers could hold deep, rich, wandering conversations that had no place in the busy daytime.

I pray this new year will be greater, smooth and brings best aroma to our smelling, normal burning for toothpicks, blue colours for great celebration, unlimited joy from nw, then and beyound in JESUS name ★FEYIKOGBON★

The three of us exchanged glances but said nothing. After all, what was there to say? The truth was that hookers did take credit cards—or at least ours did! In fact, hookers were so much a part of the Stratton subculture that we classified them like publicly traded stocks: Blue Chips were considered the top-of-the-line hooker, zee crème de la crème. They were usually struggling young models or exceptionally beautiful college girls in desperate need of tuition or designer clothing, and for a few thousand dollars they would do almost anything imaginable, either to you or to each other. Next came the NASDAQs, who were one step down from the Blue Chips. They were priced between three and five hundred dollars and made you wear a condom unless you gave them a hefty tip, which I always did. Then came the Pink Sheet hookers, who were the lowest form of all, usually a streetwalker or the sort of low-class hooker who showed up in response to a desperate late-night phone call to a number in Screw magazine or the yellow pages. They usually cost a hundred dollars or less, and if you didn’t wear a condom, you’d get a penicillin shot the next day and then pray that your dick didn’t fall off. Anyway, the Blue Chips took credit cards, so what was wrong with writing them off on your taxes? After all, the IRS knew about this sort of stuff, didn’t they? In fact, back in the good old days, when getting blasted over lunch was considered normal corporate behavior, the IRS referred to these types of expenses as three-martini lunches! They even had an accounting term for it: It was called T and E, which stood for Travel and Entertainment. All I’d done was taken the small liberty of moving things to their logical conclusion, changing T and E to T and A: Tits and Ass!

She waited for him, she stitched for years. And if he had come back broken and defeated from war, she would have loved him even more. And if he had returned mutilated, ugly, full of infection and horror, she would still have loved him; fed by pity, by a sharing of pain, she would love him even more, and even more, and she would never, never have prayed to God, please let him die if he can’t return to me whole and healthy and able to live a normal life . . . If he had died, she would have buried her heart with him. So what the fuck is the matter with me?

The best way to start praying, therefore, is actually to stop praying. To pause. To be still. To put down your prayer list and surrender your own personal agenda. To stop talking at God long enough to focus on the wonder of who he actually is. To ‘be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him’.

I was miserable and under tremendous pressure, believing I would burn in hell for all eternity because I couldn't stop myself from thinking bad things about people - not to mention the fact that I was entering puberty and knew with absolute certainty that my uncontrollable lust was earning me a one-way trip to the Lake of Fire. I had recently discovered masturbation and applied myself to the act with the utmost diligence. I couldn't seem to stop myself, and afterward would pray to God, begging his forgiveness. I had no idea that it was normal to have such urges, for no one ever explained such things to me.

modern Western culture, you’ve been brainwashed by what is called “the secular worldview.” In this view of the world, what’s real, or at least what’s important, is the physical here-and-now. When we’re brainwashed by this worldview, we experience the world as though God did not exist, for we habitually exclude him from our awareness. We may still believe in God, of course, but he’s not real to us most of the time. Because of this we go about our day-to-day lives as functional atheists. We may pray and worship God on occasion, but these are “special times,” isolated from our “normal,” secular day-to-day life. So thoroughly are we brainwashed by the secular mind-set that the very suggestion that we could routinely experience the world in a way that includes God strikes us as impossible.

But I am learning to understand that I may never fully understand. I am learning to be a bit more okay with not being okay. Life sometimes hurts, but I’ve discovered that deleting God from the equation doesn’t actually help. It merely removes all meaning and morality from the mess and all real hope from the future. And so I’m sort of stuck with God, even when I don’t understand him. Even when I don’t completely like him. Turns out he is all I’ve got. And maybe this is where hallowing actually begins.

Archbishop Justin Welby says, the Lord’s Prayer is ‘simple enough to be memorised by small children, and yet profound enough to sustain a whole lifetime of prayer’.6

As the Trappist monk Thomas Merton says: ‘God is far too real to be met anywhere other than in reality.

(See Toolshed: How to Fast.)

Miracle is just a word we use for the things The Powers have deluded us into thinking that God is unable to do. (Walter Wink)

What kind of party?” “The good kind.” “Yeah, right.” Greta knows that for me there are no good parties. I’m okay with one or two people, but more than that and I turn into a naked mole rat. That’s what being shy feels like. Like my skin is too thin, the light is too bright. Like the best place I could possibly be is in a tunnel far under the cool, dark earth. Someone asks me a question and I stare at them, empty-faced, my brain jammed up with how hard I’m trying to find something interesting to say. And in the end, all I can do is nod or shrug, because the light of their eyes looking at me, waiting for me, is just too much to take. And then it’s over and there’s one more person in the world who thinks I’m a complete and total waste of space. The worst thing is the stupid hopefulness. Every new party, every new bunch of people, and I start thinking that maybe this is my chance. That I’m going to be normal this time. A new leaf. A fresh start. But then I find myself at the party, thinking, Oh, yeah. This again. So I stand at the edge of things, crossing my fingers, praying nobody will try to look me in the eye. And the good thing is, they usually don’t.

WHAT HAPPENS WHEN we pray? Have you ever really thought about that? When you bow your knee and fold your hands or walk the floor with your eyes closed, opening your heart to heaven, what exactly happens? There are very few references in the Bible about the proper procedures for how to pray, and I believe that is because prayer is more about the heart’s attitude and focus than it is about whether we stand, sit, close our eyes, or any other practice we normally associate with prayer. The truth be told, if we are supposed to pray without ceasing, we should also be able to work on an engine, write an e-mail, give a presentation, change a diaper, write a report, have coffee with a friend, encourage a coworker, pay our bills, and any of the other myriad of things we do in a day while still keeping the communication lines open with heaven. I believe that every day we need focused times of prayer, but at all other times we should be in an attitude of prayer with our spiritual ears open to the thoughts of heaven. There should be seasons of intense, concentrated prayer and fasting with specified hours set aside for intercession, and there should be times when prayer is simply a regular part of our daily routine. A great interest has arisen in the last decade around 24-7 prayer rooms where different church members pray in hour-long blocks so that unbroken intercession is raised up for their city and our world. Other churches dedicate evenings solely to prayer and worship and gather believers to lift their voices in song and petition to the Lord. While all of these are wonderful things to do, at its essence prayer is simply conversation with God. Because we have changed passports from the kingdom of this world to the kingdom of heaven, we are members of God’s family and therefore have the right to talk with our Father anytime we want because He is not limited by time and space. Yet while it isn’t difficult to speak to Him, even as a babe in faith, it does take some maturity to discern His voice from the voice of our own thoughts, dreams, and desires. This is why, when I speak about prayer, I get more questions about hearing the voice of God than anything else.

Truly I tell you that if two of you on earth agree about anything they ask for, it will be done for them by my Father in heaven. For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them. MATTHEW

Life sometimes hurts like hell but I’ve discovered that deleting God from the equation doesn’t actually help. It merely removes all meaning and morality from the mess, and all real hope from the future

As breathing is to life, prayer is to the Church. The breath of life comes into us; prayer rises within us, and communion with God becomes the most normal thing that there is... We are pray-ers! Our life is a prayer! Our stance in God is a prayer. Our place in Him is a place of prayer! Prayer is what we build into our lives. Prayer is what we become! We are an outworking of how we work with Him.

He rested his ear against the door and prayed for Eugene to stay, prayed that his mother would find strength to stay off the drink and be at peace. Then he prayed for God to make him normal for his birthday.

I love mountains. I feel that mountains are huge contemplatives. They are there and they are in the presence up to their necks and they are still in it and with it and within it. One of the lovely ways to pray is to take your body out into the landscape and to be still in it. Your body is made out of clay, so your body is actually a miniature landscape that has got up from the earth and now walking on the normal landscape.

There is a pattern repeated in Scripture: crazy miracles are the offspring of crazy faith. Normal begets normal. Crazy begets crazy. If we want to see God do crazy miracles, sometimes we need to pray crazy prayers.

A Christian who prays only when they feel like it may survive but they will never thrive. Their vast, innate potential will be stunted because grace needs a little space to take root between the cracks of a person’s life.

Here all fear of one another, all timidity about praying freely in one's own words in the presence of others may be put aside where in all simplicity and soberness the common, brotherly prayer is lifted to God by one of the brethren. But likewise all comment and criticism must cease whenever words of prayer howsoever halting are offered in the name of Jesus Christ. It is in fact the most normal thing in the common Christian life to pray together.

The perilous path to progress has never been successfully detached from sacrifice, Mr. Sheppard. The altars of advancement have rarely been bloodless, but we can hope, we can pray, that our lambs have not, and will not, die in vain.

Prayer is more than a lighted candle,’ insists the theologian George A. Buttrick. ‘It is the contagion of health. It is the pulse of Life.’23 A real relationship with God means walking with him daily, like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. It means talking with him intimately, like Moses with whom ‘The Lord would speak … face to face, as one speaks to a friend.’24 And it means listening attentively to his voice because, as Jesus said, ‘My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me.’25

Brogan was all strong angles and broad shoulders. Normally my reaction to forced proximity with a hot guy in an elevator was that of a) glee b) praying I didn’t have horrible coffee breath, and c) the obvious hope of said hot guy jamming the big red stop button and proceeding to give a mind-blowing elevator romp.

Don’t be like this, okay, Lilith? Not with me.” I don’t know what he means. I shake my head, unable to speak, to say a fucking word, the tears falling faster, hot and wet down my face, buried against his chest. “Don’t try to pretend you’re okay when you’re not,” he says, his words rumbling from his chest, vibrating through me. “Don’t try to be so brave all the time, okay, baby? You don’t have to be. We got…” He stops for a second, and when he starts again, his voice is hoarse, nearly choked, so much emotion that he can barely get the words out. “We got fucked up, okay? We got fucked up, and you didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve any of it. And I’m so sorry I couldn’t help you. I’m so sorry you were here, so close to me, and I had no idea…I’m so fucking sorry. But you can fall apart with me, Lilith. Okay? You can fucking fall apart and I’ll put you back together, over and over and over again, scars and all.” He pulls away from me, spins me around, pulls me back to his chest, his arms wrapped around the front of me. “We’ll figure this all out, okay? Everything. When your memories come flooding back, tell me. Talk to me. And as for the other shit, you can meet Finn if you want, or if you don’t, that’s okay, too. And we’ll, ya know, go see a movie and go on a fucking date and do nice, normal things.

When God seems silent and our prayers go unanswered, the overwhelming temptation is to leave the story—to walk out of the desert and attempt to create a normal life. But when we persist in a spiritual vacuum, when we hang in there during ambiguity, we get to know God. In fact, that is how intimacy grows in all close relationships.

Father Mark Paul found himself praying once again to get her out of his head. The pictures that formed in his mind disturbed him, not something he normally, if ever, entertained. Yes, Rose was a beautiful woman, more so than the average parishioner to sit in his church. A strange attraction had built for her, growing more every moment.

I have a friend who each year on the anniversary of his wife's death, goes to her grave with some friends where they ritually pour Bombay gin on her grave because she liked martinis. As frivolous as that may seem, there is something in libation, a pouring out that symbolizes a pouring out of the soul, a pouring out of love, of remembrance. There is extravagance in my friend's ritual because gin, especially Bombay gin, is expensive; it's not something that one normally pours into the ground. In the annual ritual of spilling gin on the grave there is also the dimension of community. My friend goes with others who knew his wife, who laughed with her, who celebrated with her, who worshiped with her. They together make the pilgrimage. Therefore there is a further sense of community, of bonding among them as they make the annual pilgrimage, perhaps one member less through death, perhaps one member absent because he or she has moved to another place, or is ill. Still they go together, however many they are, to celebrate this person's life, to tell stories, to pour out gin, to pray.

What is he like?” “Logan?” “He is the kind of man you pray to be able to serve—he’s like a great king from olden times.” “Who always does what’s right,” Andrian chimed in. “Yes,” Artem agreed. “He can always be counted on to make the best choice.” “And he normally does it, except where you’re concerned.” Crane cackled. “With you, he has no idea what the hell he’s doing.

All that is not the love of God has no meaning for me. I can truthfully say that I have no interest in anything but the love of God which is in Christ Jesus. If God wants it to, my life will be useful through my word and witness. If he wants it to, my life will bear fruit through my prayers and sacrifices. But the usefulness of my life is his concern, not mine. It would be indecent of me to worry about that.

Normally when Christians go to church, they do not have to prepare to contribute anything other than some money for the tithing plate in their 'Sunday best.' They go to listen and watch those who have done the preparations carry out their professional services. Therefore, there is a hard shift in the concept that assembling according to the New Testament is very different and will require preparation, if the goal is to build up the assembly. Since an assembly's activities depend on member's contributions, if no one prays, sings, or says anything concerning Jesus it will be a very dead and boring gathering -- or the gathering will end up focused on other things. Therefore, a proper assembly requires every member to prepare something to bring and share. This is why 1 Corinthians 14:26 speaks of each one having a hymn, a lesson, a revelation, etc.

You need to take time to get alone with God, to get in a secret place with God and cry out to him. Don’t pray convenient prayers. Prayers that don’t move you won’t move him. They’ve got to be sacrificial prayers. They’ve got to be prayers that cost. They’ve got to affect how you think and how you feel. You pray and you say, ‘God, I don’t want to live knowing that a lifestyle of miracles is possible, that I could actually live like your Son Jesus lived, and yet not experience that. I don’t want to live another kind of a life. It’s the only way I can possibly be satisfied.’ And we cry out to God. We may have friends that have this disease or that disease, so we stand before the Lord, we lift up our voice and we go into that secret place with the Lord and we cry out to him. We bring the names of diseases or afflictions or problems. We bring them up before the Lord. And then when we are in public we look for people with problems. The real key for this thing is that in private you cry out to God and in public you take risk.   HEALINGS

It is important to note that the missional church combines the concern for community development normally characterized by the liberal churches and the desire for personal and community transformation normally characterized by the evangelical movement. This blurring of the old lines of demarcation between theologies, doctrine, and ideology within the church makes the way open for much more integrated mission to occur. It’s like saying that we want to prepare like an evangelical; preach like a Pentecostal; pray like a mystic; do the spiritual disciplines like a Desert Father, art like a Catholic, and social justice like a liberal.

We celebrate the dedication of Olympic athletes who diet and train and exercise daily for years in order to prepare for the games. They give up not only physical comfort but also any hope of a normal social and family life. When police officers or firefighters die, often thousands turn out for their funerals. We honor our children who die in military service in much the same way—often arranging public ceremonies and holidays. We expect television celebrities such as actors, news correspondents and musicians to sacrifice any kind of normal life in order to entertain us around the clock—and they are paid millions of dollars to do so. The names of astronauts become household words because they risk their lives in order to forward the conquest of space. But the minute a Christian young person starts to fast and pray, consider the mission field or give up career or romance for Christ—concerned counselors, family and friends will spend hours trying to keep him or her from “going off the deep end on this religious stuff.” Even devout Christian parents will oppose Christian service when their own son or daughter is about to give up all for Christ. Discipline, pain, sacrifice and suffering are rewarded with fame and fortune in the world. Why then do we refuse to accept it as a normal part of giving spiritual birth in the kingdom of our Lord?

I said, "I want to wear something funny and cool. Marjorie, could I wear your sparkly baseball hat?" The three of us looked at Marjorie. Now I remember thinking that her answer could change everything back to the way it was; Dad could find a job and stop praying all the time and Mom could be happy and call Marjorie shellfish again and show us funny videos she found on YouTube, and we all could eat more than just spaghetti at dinner and, most important, Marjorie could be normal again. Everything would be okay if Marjorie would only say yes to me wearing the sparkly sequined baseball hat, the one she'd made in art class a few years ago. The longer we watched Marjorie and waited for her response, the more the temperature in the room dropped and I knew that nothing would ever be the same again. She stopped twisting her spaghetti around her fingers. She opened her mouth, and vomit slowly oozed out onto her spaghetti plate. Dad: "Jesus!" Mom: "Honey, are you okay?" She jumped out of her seat and went over to Marjorie, stood behind her, and held her hair up. Marjorie didn't react to either parent, and she didn't make any sounds. She wasn't retching or convulsing involuntarily like one normally does when throwing up. It just poured out of her as though her mouth was an opened faucet. The vomit was as green as spring grass, and the masticated pasta looked weirdly dry, with a consistency of mashed-up dog food. She watched Dad the whole time as the vomit filled her plate, some of it slopping over the edges and onto the table. When she finished she wiped her mouth on her sleeve. "No, Merry. You can't wear my hat." She didn't sound like herself. Her voice was lower, adult, and growly. "You might get something on it. I don't want you to mess it up." She laughed. Dad: "Marjorie..." Marjorie coughed and vomited more onto her too-full plate. "You can't wear the hat because you're going to die someday." She found a new voice, this one treacly baby-talk. "I don't want dead things wearing my very special hat.

Understand a simple truth about Life: you have to go through what you have to go through! No amount of praying or wishing can change what you have to, and will, experience in Life. So, stop resisting anything that you dislike and are faced with. The role of a crisis is to make you stronger, wiser and, interestingly, happy. Look back at all that you have been through and you will find that you are better from your experiences. So, why be bitter about whatever’s happening to you now? Embrace your current reality, accept it as your new normal, and keep doing what you can possibly do each given day. Over time, you will find yourself soaked in equanimity, no matter how hard the going is!

A blind date is when well-meaning friends select two people from opposite ends of the earth, with as little in common as humanly possible, and lie to each of them about just how fabulous, interesting, normal, well adjusted, intelligent, and attractive the other half of the blind date is. Reality hits as they come through the door. You then pursue the same formula as on a regular date, hopefully in less time, and you pray that they wrote down your phone number wrong. After that you go home and cry, eventually laugh, and never speak to the friends who set you up again. And after you forget just how bad it was, you let the same friends, or others, do it to you again. With love and empathy. d.s.

For that entire journey across the rough terrain of Afghanistan, I never stopped praying that everything of the world could be peaceful, that all lives might return to normal. I believe that wish is universal for every woman who is a mother. For all the horrible happenings that have occurred since I left Afghanistan, I can only think and feel with my mother's heart. For every child lost, a mother's heart harbors the deepest pain. None can see our sons grow to men. None can see our daughters become mothers. No longer can we see the smiles on their faces, or wipe away their tears. My mother's heart feels the pain of every loss, weeping not only for my children, but for the lost children of every mother.

The best bit of advice I ever received about how to pray was this: keep it simple, keep it real, keep it up. You’ve got to keep it simple so that the most natural thing in the world doesn’t become complicated, weird and intense. You’ve got to keep it real because when life hurts like hell you’re going to be tempted to pretend you’re fine. And then at other times, when you make a mess of things, you’re going to be tempted to hide from God (which never really works) and end up hiding from yourself (which works quite well). And you’ve got to keep it up because life is tough, the battle is fierce, and God is not an algorithm. The journey of faith demands a certain bloody-mindedness of us all, not least in the realm of prayer.

remember to P.R.A.Y.! More than anything else, this simple acronym is the thing that will help you grow in prayer. ‘Pause’. Remember that crazed greyhound pursued by the bistro chair? Try to ‘be still and know’ God (Ps. 46:10). ‘Rejoice … always’ (Phil. 4:4). Remember my son Daniel’s scribbled prayers? Your Father in heaven loves you, knows you, and interprets your heart perfectly. Give him thanks! ‘Ask and it will be given to you’ (Matt. 7:7). Remember George Müller praying for daily bread? Ask the Father for everything from peace in the Middle East to parking spaces. ‘Yield’. Offer every part of yourself to him as an instrument of righteousness’ (Rom. 6:13). Remember those Thai boys trapped in the cave? Wait and trust for the light and hope to come.

Young people today are deeply passionate and crave authentic life based on truth. They're hungry to make a difference. They're willing to take a stand for whatever they believe, even to die for a cause. When they sell out to Jesus, they'll pursue a standard of righteousness that is greater than anything you and I ever saw growing up. Don't water it down. Don't lower the standard. And don't just settle for raising it-raise it higher. Believe in your children. Talk with them. Speak well of them. Encourage them. Pray for them. Celebrate the victories with them. Affirm their growth. We can raise a generation that, although they'll make mistakes, will sell out completely when Jesus grips them. They'll give Him everything. They'll make you proud by being even weirder than you are.

Family Theater was created by Father Patrick Peyton of the Holy Cross Fathers in an effort to promote family unity and prayer. Initially it was seen as a forum to broadcast the Rosary: when the networks refused to allow such a narrow one-denominational appeal, Peyton broadened the scope, made it a weekly drama, added the glamor of Hollywood, and saved the “message” for the slots normally reserved for commercials. Throughout the ten-year run, only one commercial was heard: the continuous appeal for family prayer in America. Al Scalpone created the slogans that were used on each broadcast: A world at prayer is a world at peace and, most memorably, The family that prays together stays together. A line from Tennyson was used to open each broadcast: More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of.

The rosary is being prayed perfectly when all the members pray it at the same natural and prayerful pace. This gives the rosary a beautiful rhythm, flow, and harmonious timing that match normal breathing patterns. On the other hand, if one member prays too loudly, allowing his voice and pace to dominate the others, everyone automatically begins to focus on his voice and is no longer able to meditate; the vocal aspect becomes a distraction for all the other members. Similarly, if a person places an emphasis on one particular word of the Hail Mary prayer, it breaks the flow and rhythm of the group’s timing. All of the above aspects should be taken seriously, because a group’s failure to pray the rosary well and harmoniously is often the reason why many people do not join in praying the rosary before or after Mass. Very few people are interested in praying a rosary that is chaotic and a verbal wrestling match.

warmer tan; I looked less creepy in the summer. Maybe that was why the girls had been digging into me so hard. I looked rather witchy. The unease that made them mock me was probably their souls warning them, urging them to notice I was different and dangerous. At my worst, it feels like the fire that could easily shoot from my palm is raging inside of me. My heart picks up, more than when I’m scared. It pounds, I can’t hear. My blood dances, taunting me, begging me to hurt whoever’s hurt me. And I know that I can. I feel that I can. But I don’t. I breathe and pray and let the magic cool. I didn’t want to be this way—consumed by rage and thoughts of death. I’d much rather be normal and not feel so distant from everyone around me. It would be nice to join the art club and not have to worry about what I’d do to the catty girls there. Before the powers, I’d thought that was where my life was headed—being the quiet girl with the natural artistic abilities. The nuns had thought drawing and painting would bring me out of my shell, make me finally want to talk to someone, connect

My father was a firm believer in raising his children according to his Christian faith as elucidated in Proverbs 22:6. Unfailingly at five every morning, my father would wake us children for devotion. "Get up. It's time to pray," he came calling. "I’m still very sleepy," I often complained. The prayers normally lasted about ten minutes and it had to be ten minutes of wakefulness, else we incurred the wrath of our father if he saw anyone sleeping. "Wake up, say 'Amen!'" he would yell. After that daily morning time for prayers, we were free to go about preparing for our day. He also taught us to say a simple prayer for him whenever he gave us money. “I pray God to bless you. May He replenish your pocket and may you be blessed by others. Amen.” We were also commanded to say the prayer to thank any other grownup who gifted us with money. The prayer became a magnet for monetary gifts because his friends were always excited to hear our little voices reciting the prayer dutifully. Some came to our house solely to be entertained by our family tradition of saying this particular prayer after being given money. They gave, we prayed, we were delighted and our piggy banks gained weight in coins.

Several years after the war, Corrie ten Boom was speaking about her experiences in Munich, when one of her former S.S. guards approached her at the end of the church service. ‘“How grateful I am for your message, Fraulein,” he said. “To think that, as you say, He has washed my sins away!” His hand was thrust out to shake mine. And I, who had preached so often the need to forgive, kept my hand at my side. ‘Even as the angry, vengeful thoughts boiled through me, I saw the sin of them. Jesus Christ had died for this man; was I going to ask for more? “Lord Jesus, I prayed, forgive me and help me to forgive him.” I tried to smile, I struggled to raise my hand. I could not. I felt nothing, not the slightest spark of warmth or charity. And so again I breathed a silent prayer. “Jesus,” I prayed, “I cannot forgive him. Give me Your forgiveness.” As I took his hand the most incredible thing happened. From my shoulder along my arm and through my hand a current seemed to pass from me to him, while into my heart sprang a love for this stranger that almost overwhelmed me. And so I discovered that it is not on our forgiveness any more than on our goodness that the world’s healing hinges, but on His. When He tells us to love our enemies, He gives, along with the command, the love itself.

Honorable, happy, and successful marriage is surely the principal goal of every normal person. Marriage is perhaps the most vital of all the decisions and has the most far-reaching effects, for it has to do not only with immediate happiness, but also with eternal joys. It affects not only the two people involved, but also their families and particularly their children and their children’s children down through the many generations. In selecting a companion for life and for eternity, certainly the most careful planning and thinking and praying and fasting should be done to be sure that of all the decisions, this one must not be wrong. In true marriage there must be a union of minds as well as of hearts. Emotions must not wholly determine decisions, but the mind and the heart, strengthened by fasting and prayer and serious consideration, will give one a maximum chance of marital happiness. It brings with it sacrifice, sharing, and a demand for great selflessness. . . . Some think of happiness as a glamorous life of ease, luxury, and constant thrills; but true marriage is based on a happiness which is more than that, one which comes from giving, serving, sharing, sacrificing, and selflessness. . . . One comes to realize very soon after marriage that the spouse has weaknesses not previously revealed or discovered. The virtues which were constantly magnified during courtship now grow relatively smaller, and the weaknesses which seemed so small and insignificant during courtship now grow to sizable proportions. The hour has come for understanding hearts, for self-appraisal, and for good common sense, reasoning, and planning. . . . “Soul mates” are fiction and an illusion; and while every young man and young woman will seek with all diligence and prayerfulness to find a mate with whom life can be most compatible and beautiful, yet it is certain that almost any good man and any good woman can have happiness and a successful marriage if both are willing to pay the price. There is a never-failing formula which will guarantee to every couple a happy and eternal marriage; but like all formulas, the principal ingredients must not be left out, reduced, or limited. The selection before courting and then the continued courting after the marriage process are equally important, but not more important than the marriage itself, the success of which depends upon the two individuals—not upon one, but upon two. . . . The formula is simple; the ingredients are few, though there are many amplifications of each. First, there must be the proper approach toward marriage, which contemplates the selection of a spouse who reaches as nearly as possible the pinnacle of perfection in all the matters which are of importance to the individuals. And then those two parties must come to the altar in the temple realizing that they must work hard toward this successful joint living. Second, there must be a great unselfishness, forgetting self and directing all of the family life and all pertaining thereunto to the good of the family, subjugating self. Third, there must be continued courting and expressions of affection, kindness, and consideration to keep love alive and growing. Fourth, there must be a complete living of the commandments of the Lord as defined in the gospel of Jesus Christ. . . . Two individuals approaching the marriage altar must realize that to attain the happy marriage which they hope for they must know that marriage is not a legal coverall, but it means sacrifice, sharing, and even a reduction of some personal liberties. It means long, hard economizing. It means children who bring with them financial burdens, service burdens, care and worry burdens; but also it means the deepest and sweetest emotions of all. . . . To be really happy in marriage, one must have a continued faithful observance of the commandments of the Lord. No one, single or married, was ever sublimely happy unless he was righteous.

If I wished to satirise the present political order I should borrow for it the name which Punch invented during the first German War: Govertisement. This is a portmanteau word and means “government by advertisement.” But my intention is not satiric; I am trying to be objective. The change is this. In all previous ages that I can think of the principal aim of rulers, except at rare and short intervals, was to keep their subjects quiet, to forestall or extinguish widespread excitement and persuade people to attend quietly to their several occupations. And on the whole their subjects agreed with them. They even prayed (in words that sound curiously old-fashioned) to be able to live “a peaceable life in all godliness and honesty” and “pass their time in rest and quietness.” But now the organisation of mass excitement seems to be almost the normal organ of political power. We live in an age of “appeal,” “drives,” and “campaigns.” Our rulers have become like schoolmasters and are always demanding “keenness.” And you notice that I am guilty of a slight archaism in calling them “rulers.” “Leaders” is the modern word. I have suggested elsewhere that this is a deeply significant change of vocabulary. Our demand upon them has changed no less than theirs on us. For of a ruler one asks justice, incorruption, diligence, perhaps clemency; of a leader, dash, initiative, and (I suppose) what people call “magnetism” or “personality.

The message. This was the leap of faith Vittoria was still struggling to accept. Had God actually communicated with the camerlengo? Vittoria’s gut said no, and yet hers was the science of entanglement physics—the study of interconnectedness. She witnessed miraculous communications every day—twin sea-turtle eggs separated and placed in labs thousands of miles apart hatching at the same instant . . . acres of jellyfish pulsating in perfect rhythm as if of a single mind. There are invisible lines of communication everywhere, she thought. But between God and man? Vittoria wished her father were there to give her faith. He had once explained divine communication to her in scientific terms, and he had made her believe. She still remembered the day she had seen him praying and asked him, “Father, why do you bother to pray? God cannot answer you.” Leonardo Vetra had looked up from his meditations with a paternal smile. “My daughter the skeptic. So you don’t believe God speaks to man? Let me put it in your language.” He took a model of the human brain down from a shelf and set it in front of her. “As you probably know, Vittoria, human beings normally use a very small percentage of their brain power. However, if you put them in emotionally charged situations—like physical trauma, extreme joy or fear, deep meditation—all of a sudden their neurons start firing like crazy, resulting in massively enhanced mental clarity.” “So what?” Vittoria said. “Just because you think clearly doesn’t mean you talk to God.” “Aha!” Vetra exclaimed. “And yet remarkable solutions to seemingly impossible problems often occur in these moments of clarity. It’s what gurus call higher consciousness. Biologists call it altered states. Psychologists call it super-sentience.” He paused. “And Christians call it answered prayer.” Smiling broadly, he added, “Sometimes, divine revelation simply means adjusting your brain to hear what your heart already knows.” Now, as she dashed down, headlong into the dark, Vittoria sensed perhaps her father was right. Was it so hard to believe that the camerlengo’s trauma had put his mind in a state where he had simply “realized” the antimatter’s location? Each of us is a God, Buddha had said. Each of us knows all. We need only open our minds to hear our own wisdom.

Every human being with normal mental and emotional faculties longs for more. People typically associate their longing for more with a desire to somehow improve their lot in life—to get a better job, a nicer house, a more loving spouse, become famous, and so on. If only this, that, or some other thing were different, we say to ourselves, then we’d feel complete and happy. Some chase this “if only” all their lives. For others, the “if only” turns into resentment when they lose hope of ever acquiring completeness. But even if we get lucky and acquire our “if only,” it never quite satisfies. Acquiring the better job, the bigger house, the new spouse, or world fame we longed for may provide a temporary sense of happiness and completeness, but it never lasts. Sooner or later, the hunger returns. The best word in any language that captures this vague, unquenchable yearning, according to C. S. Lewis and other writers, is the German word Sehnsucht (pronounced “zane-zookt”).[9] It’s an unusual word that is hard to translate, for it expresses a deep longing or craving for something that you can’t quite identify and that always feels just out of reach. Some have described Sehnsucht as a vague and bittersweet nostalgia and/or longing for a distant country, but one that cannot be found on earth. Others have described it as a quasi-mystical sense that we (and our present world) are incomplete, combined with an unattainable yearning for whatever it is that would complete it. Scientists have offered several different explanations for this puzzling phenomenon—puzzling, because it’s hard to understand how natural processes alone could have evolved beings that hunger for something nature itself doesn’t provide.[10] But this longing is not puzzling from a biblical perspective, for Scripture teaches us that humans and the entire creation are fallen and estranged from God. Lewis saw Sehnsucht as reflective of our “pilgrim status.” It indicates that we are not where we were meant to be, where we are destined to be; we are not home. Lewis once wrote to a friend that “our best havings are wantings,” for our “wantings” are reminders that humans are meant for a different and better state.[11] In another place he wrote: Our lifelong nostalgia, our longing to be reunited with something in the universe from which we now feel cut off, to be on the inside of some door which we have always seen from the outside is . . . the truest index of our real situation.[12] With Lewis, Christians have always identified this Sehnsucht that resides in the human heart as a yearning for God. As St. Augustine famously prayed, “You have made us for yourself, and our hearts are restless till they find their rest in you.”[13] In this light, we might think of Sehnsucht as a sort of homing device placed in us by our Creator to lead us into a passionate relationship with him.

LEAD PEOPLE TO COMMITMENT We have seen that nonbelievers in worship actually “close with Christ” in two basic ways: some may come to Christ during the service itself (1 Cor 14:24 – 25), while others must be “followed up with” by means of after-service meetings. Let’s take a closer look at both ways of leading people to commitment. It is possible to lead people to a commitment to Christ during the service. One way of inviting people to receive Christ is to make a verbal invitation as the Lord’s Supper is being distributed. At our church, we say it this way: “If you are not in a saving relationship with God through Christ today, do not take the bread and the cup, but as they come around, take Christ. Receive him in your heart as those around you receive the food. Then immediately afterward, come up and tell an officer or a pastor about what you’ve done so we can get you ready to receive the Supper the next time as a child of God.” Another way to invite commitment during the service is to give people a time of silence or a period of musical interlude after the sermon. This affords people time to think and process what they have heard and to offer themselves to God in prayer. In many situations, it is best to invite people to commitment through after-meetings. Acts 2 gives an example. Inverses 12 and 13 we are told that some folks mocked after hearing the apostles praise and preach, but others were disturbed and asked, “What does this mean?” Then, we see that Peter very specifically explained the gospel and, in response to the follow-up question “What shall we do?” (v. 37), he explained how to become a Christian. Historically, many preachers have found it effective to offer such meetings to nonbelievers and seekers immediately after evangelistic worship. Convicted seekers have just come from being in the presence of God and are often the most teachable and open at this time. To seek to “get them into a small group” or even to merely return next Sunday is asking a lot. They may also be “amazed and perplexed” (Acts 2:12), and it is best to strike while the iron is hot. This should not be understood as doubting that God is infallibly drawing people to himself (Acts 13:48; 16:14). Knowing the sovereignty of God helps us to relax as we do evangelism, knowing that conversions are not dependent on our eloquence. But it should not lead us to ignore or minimize the truth that God works through secondary causes. The Westminster Confession (5.2 – 3), for example, tells us that God routinely works through normal social and psychological processes. Therefore, inviting people into a follow-up meeting immediately after the worship service can often be more conducive to conserving the fruit of the Word. After-meetings may take the shape of one or more persons waiting at the front of the auditorium to pray with and talk with seekers who wish to make inquiries right on the spot. Another way is to host a simple Q&A session with the preacher in or near the main auditorium, following the postlude. Or offer one or two classes or small group experiences targeted to specific questions non-Christians ask about the content, relevance, and credibility of the Christian faith. Skilled lay evangelists should be present who can come alongside newcomers, answer spiritual questions, and provide guidance for their next steps.

THE MEANS OF GOSPEL RENEWAL While the ultimate source of a revival is the Holy Spirit, the Spirit ordinarily uses several “instrumental,” or penultimate, means to produce revival. EXTRAORDINARY PRAYER To kindle every revival, the Holy Spirit initially uses what Jonathan Edwards called “extraordinary prayer” — united, persistent, and kingdom centered. Sometimes it begins with a single person or a small group of people praying for God’s glory in the community. What is important is not the number of people praying but the nature of the praying. C. John Miller makes a helpful and perceptive distinction between “maintenance” and “frontline” prayer meetings.1 Maintenance prayer meetings are short, mechanical, and focused on physical needs inside the church. In contrast, the three basic traits of frontline prayer are these: 1. A request for grace to confess sins and to humble ourselves 2. A compassion and zeal for the flourishing of the church and the reaching of the lost 3. A yearning to know God, to see his face, to glimpse his glory These distinctions are unavoidably powerful. If you pay attention at a prayer meeting, you can tell quite clearly whether these traits are present. In the biblical prayers for revival in Exodus 33; Nehemiah 1; and Acts 4, the three elements of frontline prayer are easy to see. Notice in Acts 4, for example, that after the disciples were threatened by the religious authorities, they asked not for protection for themselves and their families but only for boldness to keep preaching! Some kind of extraordinary prayer beyond the normal services and patterns of prayer is always involved.

You’re straight? Love people, no matter who they choose to love. Don’t treat your gay friends as accessories. Don’t use or stay silent when someone else uses derogatory language. Don’t try to pray someone’s gay away. You’re able? Invite your friends with disabilities to places where they will not struggle to enter or exist. Teach your children that different isn’t synonymous with subpar. Raise kids who have seen you lead by example. Let them know that to be a good person means embracing all people, even those whose normal may be different from others’.

She prayed no one had followed, but there were footsteps behind her, gaining steadily. “Miranda! Wait up!” She pretended not to hear. When Etienne grabbed her arm, she gasped as he swung her around to face him. “Come on, cher, where you going?” “It’s a mistake!” Miranda insisted. “What I said at the gallery. I didn’t know anything about it--I made it up!” “You know you didn’t.” She tried to shake him off, but he only held her tighter. “Etienne, please--I need to talk to my grandfather. I need him to explain. I need to understand what this is--what’s happening to me!” “He already told you. You can communicate in ways the rest of us can’t. With people the rest of us can’t.” “Dead people.” Miranda could barely choke out the words. “That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it? That suddenly I’ve got this--this horrible power…” “Gift, cher.” As his eyes fixed on hers with calm intensity, she found it impossible to look away. She wondered if those eyes had eve shown the slightest trace of fear. She wondered why her own fears seemed to be calming inside her, leaving only a quiet resentment in their place. “So I’m supposed to believe that. And accept that. Like it’s perfectly normal.” “Yes. Your grand-père, he always helped them. When they had secrets they needed to share. When they were in pain. He was the only one they could turn to.” Miranda’s heart was an icy knot. “Please don’t tell me this.” “You need to hear the truth. And I promised him.” “This is crazy. You know that, right? Things like this don’t happen to normal people.” Biting her lip, she fought back sudden tears. “Why did that hurricane ever have to hit? Why did I ever have to come here in the first place?” “Because,” Etienne said gently, “maybe this is the place you’re supposed to be.

I began to ask myself, “Where did I see Jesus today?” I hunted for the difference between what others would normally be like and what they had become through the presence of Jesus.

Rejecting another human being simply because they are human, has become a collective neurosis. People ask, 'When will my soul mate get here?' But praying for the right person is useless if we're not ready to receive him. Our soul mates are human beings, just like we are, going through the normal processes of growth. No one is ever 'finished.' The tope of one mountain is always the bottom of another, and even if someone meets us when we feel 'on top' of things, the chances are good that very soon we'll be going through something that challenges us. It is our commitment to growth that makes this inevitable. But the ego doesn't like the look of people when they're 'going through things.' It's unattractive. As in every other area, the problem in relationships is rarely that we haven't had wonderful opportunities or met wonderful people. The problem is, we haven't known how to take the greatest advantage of the opportunities we've had. Sometimes we didn't recognize at the time how wonderful those people were. Love is all around us. The ego is the block to our awareness of love's presence. The idea that there is a perfect person who just hasn't arrived yet is a major block.

I've met travelers who are so physically sturdy they could drink a shoebox of water from a Calcutta gutter and never get sick. People who can pick up new languages where others of us might only pick up infectious diseases. People who know how to stand down a threatening border guard or cajole an uncooperative bureaucrat at the visa office. People who are the right height and complexion that they kind of look halfway normal wherever they go - in Turkey they just might be Turks, in Mexico they are suddenly Mexican, in Spain they could be mistaken for a Basque, in Northern Africa they can sometimes pass for Arab...

My milk had burst onto the scene with a vengeance, and eating became the baby’s new vocation. The next two weeks of her life marked the end of my life as I knew it; I was up all night, a hag all day, and Marlboro Man was completely on his own. I wanted nothing to do with anyone on earth, my husband included. “How are you doing today?” he’d ask. I’d resent that I had to expand the energy to answer. “Want me to hold the baby while you get up and get dressed?” he’d offer. I’d crumble that he didn’t like my robe. “Hey, Mama--wanna take the baby for a drive?” Not no, but hell no. We’ll die if we leave our cocoon. The rays from the sun will fry us and turn us to ashes. And I’d have to put on normal clothes. Forget it. I’d kicked into survival mode in the most literal sense of the word--not only was laundry out of the question, but so was dinner, casual conversation, or any social interaction at all. I had become a shell of a person--no more human than the stainless steel milk machines in dairy farms in Wisconsin, and half as interesting. Any identity I’d previously had as a wife, daughter, friend, or productive member of the human race had melted away the second my ducts filled with milk. My mom dropped by to help once or twice, but I couldn’t emotionally process her presence. I hid in my room with the door shut as she did the dishes and washed laundry without help or input from me. Marlboro Man’s mom came to help, too, but I couldn’t be myself around her and holed up in my room. I didn’t even care enough to pray for help. Not that it would have helped; stainless steel milk machines have no soul.

The services Henry and Sandra were so taken with were not evangelistic events; they were regular services designed for the praise of God and the strengthening of believers. There were Bible readings, songs, prayers, creeds and preaching-all the things that have always been part of church gatherings. Henry and Sandra were eavesdroppers, as it were. And this, I think, is part of the power of services like these. Visitors to church can easily feel threatened if they suspect the whole event is pitched at them. But when they feel the freedom simply to observe what Christians do-praying to the Lord, giving thanks to him, listening to his Word-visitors are often more at ease, less defensive and more open to the things they hear. They are more attentive to our “praises” of him who called us out of darkness into his marvellous light. I still think there is a place for the evangelistic church service and even for the so-called seeker service. I also think it is important to consider making small adjustments to our gatherings to make them more comprehensible to the uninitiated. However, I want to stress in the strongest terms that visitor-focused services are not an evangelistic necessity. Normal church meetings conducted exceptionally well will not only inspire the regulars; they will draw in visitors and, through the powerful vehicle of our corporate praise, promote the gospel to them. The burden is on us-whether we are laypeople or leaders-to do everything we can to enhance what goes on in our services and to invite our friends and family to eavesdrop on what we do.

Four times in this passage alone Jesus repeats himself, to make it perfectly clear: his sheep hear his voice. We are meant to hear the voice of God. This is one of the lost treasures of Christianity—an intimate, conversational relationship with God is available, and is meant to be normal.

In At Day’s Close: Night in Times Past, the historian A. Roger Ekirch asserts that before the Industrial Revolution, it was normal to divide the night into two periods of sleep: the “first sleep”, or “dead sleep”, lasting from the evening until the early hours of the morning; and the “second” or “morning” sleep, which took the slumber safely to daybreak. In between, there was an hour or more of wakefulness known as the “watch”, in which “Families rose to urinate, smoke tobacco, and even visit close neighbors. Many others made love, prayed, and ... reflected on their dreams, a significant source of solace and self-awareness.” In the intimacy of the darkness, families and lovers could hold deep, rich, wandering conversations that had no place in the busy daytime. This was a function of the times in which the night really was dark, when the poor would go to sleep early to save the price of candles, and even the rich would have the choice of struggling on with their occupation in limited light or surrendering to sleep. Outside the house, the streets were usually unlit, so the only navigable space was home. This was so ordinary, and perhaps also so private moment in the day, that little was written about it. Ekirch picks up a range of passing references to the first and second sleeps in diaries, letters, and literature, but this ancient practice is nearly invisible to the contemporary eye.

We tend to make prayer the preparation for our service, yet it is never that in the Bible. Prayer is the practice of drawing on the grace of God. Don’t say, “I will endure this until I can get away and pray.” Pray now—draw on the grace of God in your moment of need. Prayer is the most normal and useful thing; it is not simply a reflex action of your devotion to God. We are very slow to learn to draw on God’s grace through prayer.

Instead of adapting to goodness, we celebrate goodness.” “We become greater participants in our lives as opposed to spectators.” The phrase “adapting to goodness” reminds me of a quote I’ve seen all over social media: “Remember the day you prayed for the things you have now.” I normally scroll right past the heavy inspirational quotes, but this one got my attention. I think adapting to goodness without feeling gratitude is a function of scarcity. We either want things for the wrong reasons, then feel disappointed when we acquire them, or we just can’t accumulate enough to feel whole, so we accumulate and adapt, never valuing or appreciating.

I sat silent and alone in the car and closed my eyes, hoping and praying for everything to return to normal. I wasn’t that lucky.

Oswald Chambers says, “The real business of your life as a saved soul is intercessory prayer. . . . Prayer does not fit us for the greater works; prayer is the greater work.

Why don’t the voices come to me? I am king, not you.” “They do come to you,” Joan replies, “but you do not hear them. You have not sat in the field in the evening listening for them. When the angelus rings you cross yourself and have done with it; but if you prayed from your heart and listened to the thrilling of the bells in the air after they stop ringing, you would hear the voices as well as I do.

Lord, I am here before you now, wholeheartedly. Speak as I seek your face. Give me ears to hear what you are saying and a greater willingness to wait. Insofar as I am also here before you now half-heartedly, fuel the fire of my desire. Do whatever it takes to renew in me an all-consuming passion for your name. Lord Jesus, open my eyes to perceive you. Holy Spirit, soften my heart to receive you. Father God, grant me faith to believe that when I pray in this way, you hear and draw near with words of infinite love. Amen.

In addition, as we age, we sleep less and wake up more easily, and while many of us sleep through the night, others sometimes wake up for as much as an hour or two before going back to sleep. Debate over the normality of these varying patterns was triggered by the anthropologist Carol Worthman and the historian Roger Ekirch.33 These scholars argued that it was normal prior to the Industrial Revolution for people to wake up for an hour or so in the middle of the night before going back to sleep. In between “first sleep” and “second sleep,” people talk, work, have sex, or pray. By implication, electric lights and other industrial inventions might have altered our sleep patterns. However, sensor-based studies of nonindustrial populations reveal a more complex picture. Whereas most foragers in Tanzania, Botswana, and Bolivia sleep through the night, subsistence farmers in Madagascar often divide their sleep into first and second segments.34

Although this might sound foreign to you, these are just normal results when you understand and believe that God has already done His part. Jesus Christ completed everything necessary to save and heal every

God is far too real to be met anywhere other than in reality.’9

I am Thy servant to do Thy will, and that will is sweeter to me than position or riches or fame and I choose it above all things on earth or in heaven. Though I am chosen of Thee and honored by a high and holy calling, let me never forget that I am but a man of dust and ashes, a man with all the natural faults and passions that plague the race of men. I pray Thee therefore, my Lord and Redeemer, save me from myself and from all the injuries I may do myself while trying to be a blessing to others. Fill me with thy power by the Holy Spirit, and I will go in Thy strength and tell of Thy righteousness, even Thine only. I will spread abroad the message of redeeming love while my normal powers endure.

Come with me,” he said softly to Hector as he helped him to his feet. Hector, normally so strong, too weak to stand on his own. “And I will fight to save you.

In a profound sense, he himself always remained the underdog. All his life he suffered spells of depression, sinking into the brooding depths of melancholia, an emotional state which, though little understood, resembles the passing sadness of the normal man as a malignancy resembles a canker sore. The depressive knows what Dante knew: that hell is an endless, hopeless conversation with oneself. Every day he chisels his way through time, praying for relief. The

That pattern addressed three specific duties of a Christian: giving, praying, and fasting. Jesus said, “When you give…” and “When you pray…” and “When you fast.” He made it clear that fasting, like giving and praying, was a normal part of Christian life. As much attention should be given to fasting as is given to giving and to praying.

Don’t faint on me yet. We’re only just getting started. You’re going to bleed and scream and beg for every mark you left on her skin. You’ll be cut for every lie you told her and for having the audacity to use her good nature. You’ll pray to every deity on earth, but I’ll be your custom-made merciless god. I might not process emotions normally, but if you hurt what’s mine, I’ll be the one to spit on your fucking grave.

Finishing her cigarette, Raven put it out in the ashtray then sighed. “I never really bought into the God thing. Religion felt like a lie men told to make people listen to them. Mostly, it seemed dumb to think a magic man in the sky cared about us. Like if I was a magic man and could make the earth or whatever, I wouldn’t waste time on helping out losers.” Raven set the ashtray on the ground and crossed her arms as if cold. “I see what Lark has now with you, this house, the ugly dogs, her friends, and now the baby. It makes me think God might exist. While losers run in our family, Lark could be more if she let herself. Now she has more and I think God might have helped her out. I prayed someone would. Even not believing, I prayed and told God if He was real and wanted me to believe that He needed to help Lark. I guess He heard me because she’s happy like I’ve never seen her happy before. Not even when Phoenix was alive and we were the best we ever were as a family.” “I’m glad you’re here and you’re welcome to stay as long as you want, but, Raven, my dogs aren’t ugly.” She laughed and tapped her foot against mine. “You’re a good guy. I know I said that before, but I didn’t think you would be. I’ve been around and good guys are rare.” “They exist though.” Raven nodded. “I need to quit men the way I need to quit smoking. Just go cold turkey. If I try to be rational about it, I’ll fool myself into falling for another creep. No, just say enough is enough all that shit. Focus on other stuff like a job and roller derby and family.” “If you ever get sick of living here, the Johanssons have an apartment that Cooper used to live in.” “There are plenty of apartments in Ellsberg.” “Yeah, but if you want to avoid loser men, those apartments won’t help. They’re full of assholes. College shitheads and lowlife fuckers. If you stay out there with the Johanssons, no man will bother you. You might even like Bailey. She’s an acquired taste, but a good friend if you can deal with her mouth.” “Bossy bitches are my favorite,” Raven said, pulling her knees up to her chest. “No hurry moving out though. Lark is feeling unsure about stuff and having you here makes her feel more centered. Like she’s combining her old life with her new one and it fits.” “I just have one question, bud,” Raven said, standing up and ready to leave the cold evening. “Are you planning to fix her damn worm?” “I don’t normally tattoo pregnant women.” “You really going to have your kid born to a chick with a worm tattoo?” Smiling at Raven, I nodded. “I don’t want to do anything to jinx the pregnancy. Since we’ve been together, Lark was hurt by Larry, got into a fight with my ex, and had to hide under the table during a bar brawl. I want the rest of her pregnancy to be as pain free as possible.” “Sissy,” she said, grinning. “I’m really glad you aren’t an asshole. It was a pleasant surprise.” “Glad you approve, but don’t mock my dogs again and stop barking at Pollack.” “Fuck off,” she said over her shoulder while walking inside.

Love is weird. Most find love in normal places. But some of us find it with our windows down and engines screaming, praying to God that the moment either lasts forever, or we end with it.

SLEEP & PRAYER In peace I will lie down and sleep, for you alone, LORD, make me dwell in safety. —Psalm 4:8 I believe in God partly because I have to, because I need something to pray to with my rabid, sweeping mix of fear and love. When Henry was a baby, I would have blown a fuse in my brain every night if I couldn’t have entrusted him to God for safekeeping while I slept. It’s hard enough for me to sleep, and I believe very desperately in God. I’d never sleep a wink if I didn’t. Those first nights, I prayed out loud every night, asking God to keep Henry alive through the night. I had no reason to believe that anything would happen to him. He was healthy and normal, although at the beginning healthy and normal seem relative, because they are so tiny and wiggly and alien. So I prayed out loud, fervently, like I was at a revival. Dear God, please please please keep our baby healthy and alive through the night. Thank you thank you thank you for him, and please please please keep him safe through the night. I wasn’t creative in my language, but what I lacked in vocabulary, I made up for in

Father Mark Paul found himself praying once again to get her out of his head. The pictures that formed in his mind disturbed him, not something he normally, if ever, entertained. Yes, Rose was a beautiful woman, more so than the average parishioner to sit in his church. A strange attraction had built for her, growing more every moment.

That’s the ground motive of Spirit-directed, Christ-mediated prayer—to simply know him better and enjoy his presence. Consider how different this is from the normal way we use prayer. In our natural state we pray to God to get things. We may believe in God, but our deepest hopes and happiness reside in things as in how successful we are or in our social relationships. We therefore pray mainly when our career or finances are in trouble, or when some relationship or social status is in jeopardy. When life is going smoothly, and our truest heart treasures seem safe, it does not occur to us to pray. Also, ordinarily our prayers are not varied—they consist usually of petitions, occasionally some confession (if we have just done something wrong). Seldom or never do we spend sustained time adoring and praising God. In short, we have no positive, inner desire to pray. We do it only when circumstances force us. Why? We know God is there, but we tend to see him as a means through which we get things to make us happy. For most of us, he has not become our happiness.

According to International Diabetes Foundation, diabetes had long moved from being “a rich man’s disease”. With diabetes now affecting all the segments of Indian population, India stands on the verge of becoming “the diabetes capital of the world” with around 61 million people affected by the disease and expecting to cross 100 million people by 2030. Given the scale of diabetes epidemic, the NPPA justified its price control orders. On hearing the above, all hell broke loose in the Indian Pharma. The Indian pharma industry reacted very aggressively to this decision. Both Indian and multinationals raised concerns that “India’s investment image” had gone to the dogs and that the industry would have to shut down if the same trend continues. The Indian pharma lobbies also filed in the Delhi and Bombay High Courts, and prayed for a stay order which they were not granted, as many Supreme Court judgments had earlier justified price controls on medicines in public interest Modi’s Government rescues India’s Investment Image Given the relentless Industry demands, the Modi government decided to clip the wings of NPPA which was supposedly an expert body of regulators and withdrew their powers to pass such orders in the future. The decision of Modi government to withdraw the powers of the National Pharmaceutical Pricing Authority (NPPA) to set price caps on drugs raises serious questions on the state’s commitment to the welfare of the poor. As a result, over 108 essential drugs will now lie outside the ambit of NPPA and its internal guidelines on regulation and control of drugs would cease to apply to them. According to the government, the reasoning for withdrawal of powers of NPPA and clipping of its wings was because “it lacked legality”. Interestingly, the Modi government has found that NPPA was not legally competent to pass price control orders after over 17 years of its creation and immediately after it passed orders that would restrain pharma companies from making super normal profits.

The evening prayer service began with a sharing of the bread and the wine. An everyday occurrence for most there, but for Jacob, this prayerful remembrance of their Lord’s last supper with his disciples held a singular intensity. It had been a long while since he’d had this opportunity. He watched as the elders of their group stood before the table and Josiah again prayed, lifting the bread and the cup in turn as he blessed them, then broke the bread into small pieces for distribution. Jacob thought about the incongruity of the most revered in the group, who normally were the ones being honored and served, to now be carrying the plates of bread and the goblet of wine to each participant. He was reminded of the story he’d heard of Jesus kneeling to wash his disciples’ dirty feet. A servant . . . kept whispering through his mind as the words of the sacrament were recited. “On the night when he was betrayed, Jesus took the cup. . . .

And there are days when we will be distracted, tired, sick, bored, or even downright tired of praying. That’s normal; we are, after all, only human. But God has the victory—He just wants our heart and our willingness to pray. He will do the rest!

Normal is sustained, continuous transformation into the image of Christ, from glory to glory (see 2 Cor. 3:18). Normal is not perfection; it’s pursuit. Normal is living your everyday life under the influence of the Holy Spirit. Normal is saying yes to God in every season and situation, no matter what He asks. Normal is praying for the sick and tormented, and believing that the same power that raised Jesus from the dead lives inside you—and is able to bring wholeness to the afflicted. Normal is going against the rising tide of culture and yielding to the conviction of the Holy Spirit.