Day 35. February 21st, 2012. What More Can I Give?

"I will not harbor unhealthy thoughts anymore."  p. 178

This is another one of those days where I just want to record here everything that Liz wrote because is has had such a profound impact on me.

I was reading the prayer "The Last Grain of Corn" by Tagore.  At at the end of the prayer, he writes:  "How great was my surprise when at the day's end, I emptied my bag on the floor only to find a least little grain of gold among the poor heap!  I bitterly wept and wished that I had the heart to give you my all."  Then, I wondered what more do I have to give.

At the time, I was thinking monetarily, even physically.  But, then I read what Liz writes about devotion and faith:  ". . . for millennia there have been others who choose instead to get up before the sun and wash their faces and go to their prayers.  And, then fiercely try to hold onto their devotional convictions throughout the lunacy of another day."  p. 175

"Devotion is dialogue without assurance.  Faith is a way of saying, 'yes, I pre-accept the terms of the universe and I embrace in advance what I am presently incapable of understanding.'"  That's an accurate description of my experience.  I'm doing things in pursuit of a writing career without understanding why.  I've seen God's miracles in my life, yet I'm doing things for reasons I have yet to understand.  "Writing because I have to" is not measurable.  It's not reasonable.  Even if I was doing this for fame and fortune, those things come rarely to a writer and, therefore are insane reasons.  So, I'm back to answering a call.

And, I'm back to wondering, "what more can I give?"

Then, Liz goes on to write about the deliberateness of prayer.  I too have said prayers similar to:  "Oh, I dunno what I need . . . but you must have some ideas . . . so just do something about it, would you?"  p. 176.

I've said old-hat prayers and tired prayers.  I've recited them while my mind wanders, just lazily drifting over words, not really meaning them.  I'm just being dutiful.  And, lately I've been skipping my evening prayer and reflection over the past day.  Sometimes, as I lay in bed, I just lightly touch on or carelessly gloss over the repetitive mistakes I make, not giving any serious regard to letting go of old habits or seriously considering the sacrifices I'd have to make, much less taking any action.  I just wait for them to slip away.

"Prayer is a relationship," Liz writes.  "Half the job is mine.  If I want transformation, but can't even be bothered to articulate what exactly I'm aiming for, how will it ever occur?  Half the benefit of prayer is in the asking itself, in the offering of a clearly posed and well-considered intention.  If you don't have this, all your pleas and desires are boneless, floppy, inert; they swirl at your feet in a cold fog and never lift."  p. 177.

If Liz doesn't feel sincere, she stays there until she does.  Discipline.

So, again, I've opened Tagore's prayer book, The Heart of God to a "random" page.  The idea that I needed to change was planted.  Then, through Liz's words, the idea has germinated into action:  I have to be disciplined and I have to mean it!  And, how about a little more effort?  My devotion practices are limp and lazy.  For example, last night I set my alarm for 8:00 am and when it went off I reset it for 9:00 am.  My fiancee had gotten home late from work and I stayed up with her.  I couldn't fall asleep anyway because I was still hungry and caffeinated.  Clearly, I'm not taking care of myself the best I can.

Even so, what would have happened if I had gotten up early anyway?  Liz is talking about the devotion of getting up before the sun.   And, I can't even get up at 8 am!  She's talking about the kind of devotion that starts hours before I even stir.

So, I ask again:  What can I do?  Make the effort.  Get up early.  Go to bed early.  If I'm tired enough, I'll sleep through my fiancee coming home.  And, stop with the coffee so late in the evening.  What else?  Be more specific with my prayers.  Then, like today, God will answer in his seeming random, miraculous way.  (I've often asked to be shown the truth about myself then be giving the strength and the courage to follow whatever direction I've been given)

I can say, "I will not harbor unhealthy thoughts anymore".  I can do that.  In fact, I can write that on a little card and carry it around in my wallet in case I forget.  Liz repeats this vow about 700 times a day.  When the unhealthy thoughts, the bitterness, the anger, the resentment, the annoyance, the agitation, or the desire to retaliate come to me I can say these words too . . . until they pass.

And, perhaps I can put forth more effort in my half of solving my problems, instead of asking God to do all the work.  Thanks, Liz.  More importantly, thanks God.