(See previous post @ https://jskimbroughii.com/2023/12/11/where-am-i-now/)
With temperatures outside actually near freezing, I want no part of that, so I take another walk down our black, spiral staircase. Tonight, I march down the stairs in my moccasin style house shoes; they’re super quiet which means little concern for waking my oldest daughter.
The weirdest thing – Well, no that’s not going to be accurate. One of the weird things about my winter hermitage is the cement floor. Now, a cement floor in a basement is not unusual, but the cement floor here is green. Some previous owner took the time to put a delightful, dark green coat of paint on the floor.
Although, the paint’s not what it used to be. Between me pacing on it and the kids riding bicycles on it, the paint chips in most places. Such chips remind me of the destructive capabilities of children, but it is a high traffic area down here, so that makes me feel a little better.
I step onto my green floor and say, “Hello, my Lord.” Tonight, I’m feeling especially not alone. I throw that out though; it’s not aimed at anyone in particular.
“Thanks for that,” comes the reply. There’s a hint of disappointment but mostly patience, or indulgence. My Lord says, “How are ya?”
I take a breath at my coat rack, the official entry to my office, so I can assess myself to answer that question. I take another moment to pause at the plastic table next to my Lord’s chair. My daughters’ creative pursuits litter the table, and I’m reminded they’re pretty great kids. “You know what? I’m greatly blessed, all things considered.”
Now, I tune in for the first time, look at the brown chair, and ask, “How are You?”
My Lord chuckles and undoubtedly raises an eyebrow. It’s the same look that a professor used to give me when he questioned whether or not I considered my question before asking it, as though the question was interesting yet misplaced. “I’m keeping it all between the lines,” is the answer with plenty of indulgence.
Such an answer crunches my eyebrows together; I mean: the answer’s worth considering but what question prompted such a response? My kids’ drawings absorbed my mind, so I wasn’t entirely paying attention. I realize what the question was with a snicker.
My head shakes all the way to the bookcase behind my desk. I say, “Well, don’t get asked that one much, huh?” I stare at my shelf of pipes, while my Lord answers with “not often, no.”
I select one of my Peterson pipes – one of my oldest and most favorite. It felt like it was pleading for involvement in the conversation. A full bowl of tobacco (that I received at Christmas) goes into the pipe, and I grab the lighter and tamper, before I cross to my wicker chair that bears an uncanny resemblance to a mushroom.
I stare more at the brown chair than my pipe as the tobacco lights. I say, “Now, correct me if I’m wrong, last time we finally concluded that prayer was (in part) a conversation.”
“Well, first of all, welcome to the moment,” my Lord says.
“Thanks” says I. Truth is: I’ve been distracted by this or that thing since I stepped onto my green floor. There’s a hundred options for beginning a new moment, and everything that I saw down here suggested another one, but this prayer as conversation idea has plagued me since our last prayer session. Plus, everyone else is in bed, so I have the time to deal with it. I want this to be about that prayer topic, but I’ve seen too many options around, so all the options fight to come out at the same time – while I’m fighting to have one particular discussion.
Instead of offering any of that as a confession or as an alternative possible start, I bow my head in a twitch. It’s a sign of three-quarters gratitude for the welcome and one-quarter sarcastic recognition of my absent-mindedness to this point. My Lord, then, says, “Yes, we did.”
I stretch against the mushroom chair, so I can settle for a moment. “Good,” I say, “I’m glad I made it to the right place.”
My Lord senses a thought coming, so He waits. The “Museum of a Thousand Years,” also known as the bookshelves along the back wall, grabs my attention. As I stare at the mementos there, the idea of prayer as conversation fills my mind.
Conversation with God, still, feels pretty mysterious to me. I’m not entirely sure what to do with that idea. How does one have a conversation with someone who knows everything? I have certainly had conversations with folk, who thought they knew it all, but this is a different category.
I recall a conversation with “Tiny,” who was anything but, on my first day of one of my lawncare jobs. Now, Tiny knew more about lawncare than anyone I’d ever met, yet he didn’t know much about customer service. His opinion was: “I’m the expert here, so move out of my way.” But, Tiny knew what he didn’t know, so our conversations were pretty back & forth. He’d tell me how to do my job better, and I would tell him how to get along with customers. We exchanged information, so even this conversation seems a disconnect from talking to God, who does – in fact – know it all.
So, I didn’t fit into the conversations with people who thought they knew it all. And, the other category of conversation doesn’t seem to apply to prayer as conversation, so that brings to mind a question that ought to go to the Big Guy. “All right, my Lord” I say as my attention snaps back to the brown chair, “Where do I fit in?”
My Lord shakes His head, like a dog trying to dry himself. He says, “Do what now?”
I say, “Based on my, admittedly, limited understanding, a conversation involves at least two people. I’ve seen the beauty of Your role in our discussion, but I must be the other person involved, so how do I fit in? What must I do?”
My Lord presses His lips into a smile, like a father hearing his daughter ask a hard life question for the first time. This concern and pride evaporate as my Lord’s head leans to one side with a wry smile. It’s the look that says ‘you should already know that answer’, or at least where to look. So, my Lord asks, “Didn’t I give you a book about that?”
I chuckle at what should have been obvious to me. I say, “You did, but it’s kind of thick, so could You narrow it down for me?”
“Let’s see,” my Lord says. His shoulders sag against the chair, and His eyes relax into the middle distance. He asks, “Where did I pray while I was down there?”
While my Lord gazes at His past, I stare into my pipe. My breathing relaxes, so a steady puff of smoke rises from the bowl. The smoke drifts into a scene by a lake. A great crowd surrounds my Lord, and everyone has a question. Some ask about righteousness; others inquire about the Law, and then His own apostles ask about prayer.
In that scene, my Lord draws a deep breath, and He looks around the crowd. This might sound like a survey of them, but He locks eyes with those who look like they’re waiting for an answer. As though, they’re the people in the class with a notepad out waiting for the answer that will certainly be on the test. My Lord closes His eyes in a way that says: “I need words for these people”, and begins, “Our Father….” (Matthew 6:9-13)
The smoke evaporates, and I report what I saw. My Lord shrugs with a nod of His head. He says, “Yeah, that’s been the go-to prayer. My poor apostles never knew what to do with what I said either. Yet, you are supposed to be My follower, so pray like I do, right?”
I take a long draw on my pipe and pointedly blow the smoke at the chair. “Sure,” I say, “that sounds easy enough, but I am not You. Now, I enjoy saying Your prayer. I especially like the ‘daily bread’ part. Sometimes though, it all feels like I’m just going through the motions. And, that is no way to participate in a conversation, right?”
I think about talking to the cashier at the gas station. Sometimes, I can invest in a conversation with her. I can return the question about “how are you doing” and actually mean it. However, most times, I’m in there with a daughter or two, and I can only rush in and out. Maybe the cashier makes a comment about my daughter, but I’m in too much of a rush to notice – except to toss a polite answer on my way out the door. In other words, we have a ‘conversation’ either way, but the rushed one certainly doesn’t feel like it actually qualifies.
Anyway, while all of that runs through my mind, my Lord begins some kind of explanation, but a stray whiff of smoke floats into my eyes. I tamp the pipe and stare at it for interrupting, while my Lord is still talking.
Then, a darker scene rises in the smoke. My Lord is alone in a garden. Life weighs heavily upon Him as He kneels over some rocks. He pleads to avoid a coming situation with resignation to the Father’s will. At last, an angel comes to His aid. (Luke 22:39-46)
I report what I saw (talking over my Lord ‘s instructions), and He asks through gritted teeth (as if not enjoying this trip down memory lane), “Interesting, how does that scene help?”
I take that “interesting” as encouragement, though perhaps I should be less bold. I could step on some pretty big toes, if I say what’s on my mind. Still, my Lord did ask my opinion. Fine, let’s just say the thing; He can only tell me about being out of line. I mean: He did that to St. Peter and things turned out pretty good. (I’d give a citation here, but I’d take up the rest of the story – if I get started.)
So, I say, “You know: I’ve always had one problem with the Our Father.”
I stop to take a draw from my pipe, but I catch my Lord’s narrowed eyes. The idea communicated is the same one behind a single sign on a chain linked fence that reads only: “Beware.”
Then, I take another draw to allow some time to think. This next step might get me into the wrong place. Yet, a path becomes visible in my mind, as sun shines at the end of an overgrown trail.
“Well, hold on, now – Not the prayer itself.” I figure a sidestep would put me on that mental trail. “Rather,” I continue, “more with the way Your prayer is sometimes presented.” At this point, my Lord leans back in His chair with a grin. He sees me tying myself in a knot, so I’ve at least got the entertainment factor going for me.
“On occasion, Your prayer gets taught as an end,” I say. “All I have to do is memorize it with more effort than I gave the ‘Gettysburg Address,’ and I’m good to go. Yet, that feels like it goes against the conversation idea, right?”
I get a “hmm” in response before a long pause. I’m thinking positively: Maybe I’m only Wormwood and not the Devil himself. But then, my Lord says, “Yeah, I did kind of give that in an instructional manner, so maybe memorizing it is a good thing.”
I note that ending with a period and not a question mark. I concede only to a point by saying: “I agree that, in the beginning, of a faithful journey it should be memorized. That way, maturity can adapt it to the situation at hand.”
My Lord nods His head to one side while a single index finger makes a wide circle, so I go on: “For example, look at the scene from Luke. There, You begin praying with the same address as the Our Father. You, then, make Your request and resign it to the Father’s will. There it is. Two connections between the Our Father and this moment on Your journey.”
“But, I still don’t see your conversation there,” my Lord says. He drums His thumbs on His knees, waiting for my response. I’m reminded of a noticeably fidgety customer from my tobacco shop days. They knew I did the best that I could, but he had other places to be. It’s the motions of a person, who wants to be done here and onto the next thing – nothing personal.
“Oh, come on,” I say. I know [by now] that my Lord enjoys watching me twitch, while I piece these things together. However, He knows the story, so I was expecting a bit of indulgence here. Still, it’s my turn for indulgence, so I say, “You know what comes next: An angel comes to minister to You. That shows the Father responding, which would be two people conversing.”
My Lord smiles (that looks spontaneous) and only says, “Pretty proud of that one, huh?
“What?” The question explodes from me. I guess I am feeling a little proud of that one. Plus, I feel like that one is less twitchy than my usual efforts, so I expected some pat-on-the-back. Also, I’d just made some of those connections for the first time; perhaps then, a simple “you’re getting there” would suffice.
On the other hand, I’m probably puffed up enough that I think about having the whole picture, which is a complete fallacy. I’ve been in Church, reading these things all my life, and these connections are new to me. If I’m still finding stuff after all this time, it’s a safe bet that I’ve missed something else – despite my nifty contortions tonight.
I take several slow draws to calm me back down. I select the pieces for a summary version of my thoughts and say, “All right, yes – I enjoy the connections between those moments of Your life, and I like seeing Your teaching lived out. Plus, I find a confirmation of my theory of my faithful journey being one of growth. Also, I’m grateful because I felt some guidance through that process.”
“All of that sounds good, Joe,” my Lord says. “However, I don’t think that gets you away from my first question: If you are my follower, why not just do what I did? In fact, I think you only made that question more relevant.”
My head shakes my eyes closed. I confess, “But, I’m not You, and I just made those connections tonight. Maybe, I’m not there in my maturity yet?”
“Now, that’s a solid thought; thank you for that that one,” my Lord says. While I role my eyes at getting my pat-on-the-back there, my Lord asks, “Do you remember running track?”
My lips purse together in a straight line, and one eyebrow darts up my forehead. I have no idea where that question came from, nor do I have the slightest hint where the conversation might lead based on my answer. That means it’s my turn to see where this goes. “Yeah,” I say drawing out each letter.
“Good,” my Lord says, “whether or not you remember, your first mile runs were terrible. You had to work at it, but your coach had you out there running them day one. Certainly, you weren’t ready for a race, but you had to make a start.”
“So, You’re saying that I need to make a start?” I say before my Lord nods one time. His head rocks forward and upright like a chair on the front porch. I run a hand over my bald scalp, look Him straight in the eye, and say, “But, that’s kind of what I’m asking for is a place to start. How do I even get into this?”
My Lord smirks, says: “Well, there’s no time like the present,” and exits stage left.
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