ragamuffin

“The prayer of the poor in spirit can simply be a single word: Abba. Yet that word can signify dynamic interaction. Imagine a little boy trying to help his father with some household work, or making his mother a gift. The help may be nothing more than getting in the way, and the gift may be totally useless, but the love behind it is simple and pure, and the loving response it evokes is virtually uncontrollable. I am sure it is this way between our Abba and us. At the deepest, simplest levels, we just want each other to be happy, to be pleased. Our sincere desire counts far more than any specific success or failure. Thus when we try to pray and cannot, or when we fail in a sincere attempt to be compassionate, God touches us tenderly in return.”

-Brennan Manning, The Ragamuffin Gospel.

When I feel like I can’t bring myself to pray, can’t bring myself to read the bible, can’t bring myself to love, I feel like I am bad. That there is something wrong with me. That I am doing things wrong. That I am not who I was made to be. That I am far from God. That I am not pleasing to Him. That I am not worthy.

I remember being in the third grade. It was nearing Christmas break. The school had a gift store set up in the library so that we could buy gifts for parents/siblings/friends. Being an only child, and probably not having many friends (due in part to my completely stylish mullet) I bought presents for my parents (with their money of course). Couldn’t tell you what I bought my mom. Couldn’t figure out what to buy my dad. An eternity of stressful decision making (which was more likely 35 seconds of stressful decision making) yielded me with an owl figurine that was standing on a small block of wood. I don’t really think my dad likes owls. In fact, I’m pretty sure he has never had anything to do with owls. I can also be sure that he thought it was about the most useless piece of junk he had ever seen. I can be sure of this because as an 8 year old I thought it was about the most useless piece of junk I had ever seen. I can remember where he sat as I gave him the gift. I can remember feeling ashamed that it was all I had to offer him. I had nothing else to offer. I had nothing left to offer. Nothing.

Point being, I have nothing to offer now. It isn’t the owl that is important to a father-like God. The importance is the 35 seconds. The time that I desired to find the perfect gift, to bring the perfect gift, to be the perfect gift giver. Whether I find that gift, whether I give that gift, whether or not there even is a gift is irrelevant. The desire is what touches a heart. The desire to want to want God. To want to be able to pray. To want to be able to serve. To want to be able to know Him. Whether you can or not is meaningless when God is already holding you firmly in his arms, adoring you for the simple desire stirring inside of you.

That owl sat on the stereo in our house for years... I think I was finally the one to throw it away. I don’t think anyone noticed. It wouldn’t matter if anyone had... the owl isn’t the point.

“...and the loving response it evokes is virtually uncontrollable.”

I still don’t know the roads we’ll take, but it seems like we’re heading in the right direction...