Have you asked?

When was the last time you asked for help?

I mean, like seriously begged Jesus for mercy.

Maybe it's my lack of time-management skills.  Or, truthfully, my lack of time-awareness skills.  Or maybe it's my clumsiness, my ability to put my foot in my mouth, my ability to bungle, well, anything.  Whatever the reason, I find myself earnestly, honestly, frequently begging Jesus for mercy.  And you know what?

He never, ever fails to be merciful.

Lessons in Luke

I'm still making my way through Luke.  I have been derailed by an exceptional study of David (Anointed, Transformed, Redeemed), and various and sundry other life events. 

Last night, at the tail end of a family-wide stomach bug, I finished reading my sister's Christmas gift (In the Company of Others, by Jan Karon).  Holy cow, can that woman write.

I want to have dinner with her.

One question I will ask, after telling her that I love her, that I aspire to be like her, that her sweet, unapologetic witness of Christ's love in the form of Father Tim touches me deeply, that I've read the Mitford series through every winter for four years, is this: "Why, Jan Karon, did you write this entire book with the dialogue in single quotes?  Is it an Irish thing?  Did it save ink?  Was it a first-run mistake, and as such should I keep this book for fifty years and then retire on the proceeds of its sale?"

If it's a first-run mistake, Sissy, you're getting a sweater for Christmas.

So what does this have to do with Luke, you ask?

Just this.  Throughout the book (In the Company of Others, not Luke), Father Tim began his day (earlier than I ever will) by reading the Daily Office (which I had to look up and understand to be daily scripture readings and prayers for the Episcopal church) and then praying for others.

It stayed with me.

I noticed this morning that I was procrastinating spending time with God.  I do this often.  Sometimes I procrastinate so long that it's bedtime.  I finally sat down with my bible and told God that I don't know how to spend time with Him.  Then I remembered Father Tim.  I closed my eyes and asked God to spend time with me.  Then I opened and read Luke Chapter 8, the parable of the sower.

I read it.  I read it again.  How does this apply to me?

I don't think my heart is "by the wayside."  I don't think it's the rock.  I do think I have been, or am in danger of being "choked with cares, riches and pleasures of life."  

What I want, more than anything, is to be the "good ground," to "hear the word with a noble and good heart, keep it and bear fruit with patience."