05/09/19 - The Warmth of Joy
I saw, in my prayer,
Two ways in which I am come before my King:
The first was as a lowly slave,
Grovelling and pleading my needs,
As though an insignificant and distant ant
In the great and cold stone courts of the King;
And He,
Simply waving His hands to my pleas.
The second was as though a child,
Sitting in the lap of a kindly and humorous Father,
Grinning as I shared even the smallest details
Of what others might think a childish day’s tale.
And He,
Joyed to hear my words,
With the warm and golden sun
Streaming in from the windows surrounding His throne.
I realized as I thought of these,
That the first was the more common for my prayer habits.
It seemed that all I would say
Was that of a broken record,
Repeating myself
And only whenever I considered it expected.
This was truly a cold and distant scene.
The second, however,
Was filled with the golden warmth of the sun,
And the smiles of both myself
And my Loving Father.
This, I thought,
Was the prayer that my Father delights in -
Was the prayer that my Father delights in -
One that shares the details as though to a friend or Father.
- Ray
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