I'm still reading "In A Pit With A Lion On A Snowy Day" by Mark Batterson. Yes, yes, I started it over a month ago. When you're reading it, it's a hard book to put down. But once it's down, I find it takes longer and longer for me to pick it back up and carry on.
I'm still underlining as I go, and will share - probably later this weekend - what I've been underlining. But I got to something and had to fire up my computer just to post it for you.
It's from the book, but it's a reference to a writing by Ted Loder in Guerillas of Grace.
How shall I pray?
Are tears prayers, Lord?
Are screams prayers,
Can trembling hands be lifted to you,
or clenched fists
or the cold sweat that trickles down my back,
or the cramps that knot my stomach?
Will you accept my prayers, Lord,
my real prayers,
rooted in the muck and mud and rock of my life,
and not just the pretty, cut-flower, gracefully arranged
bouquet of words?
Will you accept me, Lord,
as I really am,
messed up mixture of glory and grime?