Centuries ago, John Montgomery (1771-1854) gifted the church with a hymn on prayer (The Covenant Hymnal, 1973, No. 345), whose images came back to me on awakening this morning.
Prayer is the soul's sincere desire, unuttered or expressed,
the motion of a hidden fire that trembles in the breast.
Sincere desire and hidden fire ... that trembles in the breast. How true of prayer in my life, not so much the assembling of words as the giving of wings to my hung'ring spirit. Often, in fact, I have no words to offer, which Montgomery goes on to describe. Sometimes prayer is only the burden of a sigh, the falling of a tear, the upward glancing of an eye when none but God is near.
More images abound. Prayer is the simplest form of speech ... the contrite sinner's voice, returning from his ways ... the Christian's vital breath and native air, his watchword at the gates of death, he enters heav'n with prayer.
I could well in my own life parody the words of one in Scripture who once cried out to Jesus, "I believe, Lord; help my unbelief," by saying here and now, "I pray, Lord; help my lack of prayer." And so, with James Montgomery, I begin this day as he ended his hymn: O thou by whom we come to God, the life, the truth, the way; the path of prayer thyself hast trod, Lord, teach [me] how to pray.
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About Me
- James R Hawkinson
- White Bear Lake, MN, United States
- Nearly seventeen years into retirement, I am enjoying the opportunity to share thoughts and life experiences on a regular basis. This blog is part of a larger personal website at www.rootedwings.com. Your comments, thoughts, and life experience responses are not only invited but welcome!
Companions
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Alyce and Jim
Lest We Forget
Are we forgetting
the things that remain?
One often wonders
in looking around.
A child, leaving church
was in a quand’ry,
not concerning faith
but concerning sports.
‘It is a bummer,’
he said ruefully,
‘The Vikings are on
during my game time.’
Innocent enough,
as boys tend to be.
Yet it made me sad
and broken in heart.
Where is life, really?
What are we teaching
our children to think
subliminally?
O Lord God of Hosts,
come down within us,
lest yearning for life
we fail to find it.
Renew our passion
to gather ‘round you,
lest we all forget
where true glory waits.
JRH
1/31/10
the things that remain?
One often wonders
in looking around.
A child, leaving church
was in a quand’ry,
not concerning faith
but concerning sports.
‘It is a bummer,’
he said ruefully,
‘The Vikings are on
during my game time.’
Innocent enough,
as boys tend to be.
Yet it made me sad
and broken in heart.
Where is life, really?
What are we teaching
our children to think
subliminally?
O Lord God of Hosts,
come down within us,
lest yearning for life
we fail to find it.
Renew our passion
to gather ‘round you,
lest we all forget
where true glory waits.
JRH
1/31/10
Outside and In
Outside in the night
a lamp shines
on a single pole
in an empty lot
behind our home.
Humanly speaking
its lone beam
is hardly enough
to explain the warmth
I feel on waking.
Yet borne by Spirit
and filter’d
by prisms of color
created elsewhere
it fuels my soul.
Who should be so blest
as to know
and feel what I do
time and time again
when light breaks through.
Inside it is morn,
time to wake
and offer God praise
with kindred spirits
who understand.
Night never prevails.
Sing it now!
Rise, shine, be thankful,
for your redemption
is drawing near.
JRH
8/11/98
a lamp shines
on a single pole
in an empty lot
behind our home.
Humanly speaking
its lone beam
is hardly enough
to explain the warmth
I feel on waking.
Yet borne by Spirit
and filter’d
by prisms of color
created elsewhere
it fuels my soul.
Who should be so blest
as to know
and feel what I do
time and time again
when light breaks through.
Inside it is morn,
time to wake
and offer God praise
with kindred spirits
who understand.
Night never prevails.
Sing it now!
Rise, shine, be thankful,
for your redemption
is drawing near.
JRH
8/11/98
Grandchildren
You stand there, in space and time,
not unlike seedlings budding,
planted by streams of water.
Living out of your own roots
you too carry the Word.
No random selves, you were each
born to fulfill some promise,
no matter how soon or late.
In clearly diff’rent stages
You still bear similar marks.
Trunk and bark and leaves diff’ring
do not mask the common grain
that grows new rings ev’ry year.
Who knows in time how God works
to bind such layer’d wonders?
Ever taller and deeper,
in whatever loam God plants,
one sees a whole new promise.
Be not each your own, alone,
But care for others and earth.
You must sow the seed you are
and see your lives in common,
lest fear or pride deceive you.
You were born for godly things,
to stand tall and grow and bless.
JRH
12/7/03
not unlike seedlings budding,
planted by streams of water.
Living out of your own roots
you too carry the Word.
No random selves, you were each
born to fulfill some promise,
no matter how soon or late.
In clearly diff’rent stages
You still bear similar marks.
Trunk and bark and leaves diff’ring
do not mask the common grain
that grows new rings ev’ry year.
Who knows in time how God works
to bind such layer’d wonders?
Ever taller and deeper,
in whatever loam God plants,
one sees a whole new promise.
Be not each your own, alone,
But care for others and earth.
You must sow the seed you are
and see your lives in common,
lest fear or pride deceive you.
You were born for godly things,
to stand tall and grow and bless.
JRH
12/7/03
Pass It On!
Our inheritance flows
like a fresh, clean stream
from the heart of God.
Who knows where it begins
or finally ends
in oceans of time?
Whatever we may say
is inadequate
to trace it clearly,
except that God once gave
and still is giving
out of love for us.
We are never worthy
to receive or share
the fruits of such grace!
No wonder we long now
to offer God thanks,
"Thanks for ev'rything!"
And, after the off'ring,
to reach, teach, and love
those yet without hope.
JRH
The Covenant Companion
June, 1991
like a fresh, clean stream
from the heart of God.
Who knows where it begins
or finally ends
in oceans of time?
Whatever we may say
is inadequate
to trace it clearly,
except that God once gave
and still is giving
out of love for us.
We are never worthy
to receive or share
the fruits of such grace!
No wonder we long now
to offer God thanks,
"Thanks for ev'rything!"
And, after the off'ring,
to reach, teach, and love
those yet without hope.
JRH
The Covenant Companion
June, 1991
Roots exist forn the wings that propel them into life as we know it.
Wings exist to magnify the creative power of roots within them
Wings exist to magnify the creative power of roots within them