By Constance Mokhoantle
As we sit here during this wonderful time of lent and the crucifixion I have lost my ability to pray. No, I am not a bad Christian. But, I am a wounded soul that lost a connection with my souls’ desire. No, my ability to pray hasn’t fallen by the wayside or get left behind at my favourite mall.
It’s just gone…
My ability to kneel and wash my Lords’ feet with my hair and my tears has dried up. My heart yearns for His comfort, to be like Martha and sit at his feet and have my heart bask in his warmth and wonder.
My ability to sing the Psalms and to feel their warmth not only on my tongue but in my soul is gone. As we draw near to a time where my Lord stood on the cross and His only cloak of protection was prayer…
My ability to lift my eyes to hence where my help comes from has ceased.
The words of praise and wonder dance on the edge of my tongue ready to create a kaleidoscope of wonder and beauty before my Kings feet but they do not make it… OUT!
They recede to the dark chamber of my heart… too afraid to make their entrance to the world; Too anxious to have an audience with the One who moves heaven and earth with a word; Too afraid to wash in His blood; and Too broken to understand that His grace and love is not dependent on my goodness.
His love for me… for a broken me that cannot utter a single word of conversation, is bathed in His protection.
My ability to pray is gone.
I am not worthy. I am a sinner. A lost soul seeking redemption, and a peace that surpasses all peace. My words of prayer slink off…drag themselves off and hide where they cannot bring harm.
Yet God invites me to His table with arms out stretched ready to warm me.
KeNakedi 