Into the Fire

God, you see each one of us individually, even as we feel like a small glob in a huge mass. Writers. Hand-picked, determinedly designed, honorably gifted—though not above any of your other children. Lord, do you ever look down at the streets of gold and shake your head even slightly? At our rantings and comparisons and soap box platitudes? At our short-sighted self-esteem when we’re overtaken by our own value instead of gaining our value in your ability to work through us? Do you wonder how we can testify about the glory and wonder of words, our passion seeping out of every utterance, when we have no ardor for your Presence in our day?

I consider how anything in my life can supercede time with you. I’m dumbfounded as to how the mundane can overcome the supernatural in my life. I am deflated at how I can love you so much and accomplish so little for you. And yet you pour out your love and fill me with wonder, and I am brought to the heights of reverence and gratitude and weep at your generosity, your longsuffering, your generous smile, humbled by such perfection.

Heavenly Father, in the Name above all names, the magnificent, powerful, and holy Name of Jesus, I ask that you would continue to look upon the ones you’ve appointed to write and fill us with the inspiration that comes from your heart—the root of which is truth, the center of which is love, and the heart of which is pure. God, let us not get filled up with ourselves and forget who gives the assignments—not noble in themselves but rather because you’ve designed and ordained their existence, providing a voice in hand-crafted words from a servant’s heart. Lord, we are not exalted, but you are. You are the height to which we reach and aspire. Not to attain equality but to attain victory. Let us reach the pinnacle of providing the blessing you deserve through the work of these simple hands and managed minds. Let your voice beat in our hearts and make pictures that speak of evil defeated at the hands of a willing Savior, valiant and equal to the insurmountable task. We are nothing, you are everything. Our breath, our hope, our very sum totals of life. Apart from you we can do nothing. Nothing of value. Nothing of interest. Nothing of reason. Nothing at all. No beauty, no honesty, no stunning extrapolation of reality. Nothing to give. Nothing to offer. Nothing worthy of acclaim.

Holy Spirit, help us to lay down our strengths, the muted and ineffective strongholds of egotism. Help us to turn away from those accolades of arrogance inflating our self-sufficiency. We cannot hold a pen or press a key without your permission. Words combined in tangled messages, indecipherable—without your divine resuscitation to make them sing, becoming the musical declaration of heaven’s gift to us dedicated and performed for you. Our tribute–a lowly mirror of your astounding creativity. You allow us the privilege and pleasure of sampling your originations. How can it be?

Please, Lord, may we never attempt to exceed exactly what you have for us. Help us to remain faithful and to strain toward obedience. Keep us from significant failure. Let us feel your pleasure when we bless you. Let us love one another as you have loved us. Help us to press on to the goal of fulfilling your desires for us and to experience the joy and power of your face shining upon us. We ask it all in the Name of Jesus, Amen.