Back in April the Lord led me to return to a vow I had made it many years ago in the attic of an old wood framed house on Long Island.  The Crows Nest, I called it, had no insulation, and often had critters staring at me from the eaves.  The vow was a surrender to devote myself to prayer. 

Over the years, it’s been ebb and flow, and recently, more like a polite conversation at the end of my unhurried time with Jesus. This changed about four months ago, when God put his finger on my intention, and His Spirit of conviction awakened by senses.  Since then, I’ve taken things more seriously (not legalistically, as life has too many variables and contingencies).  At first, I called it the hour to change the world.  But now I call it, the hour where prayer meets love.

You may bristle, but this habit of prayer, (yes, I said that word!) has led me to wait more patiently, seek more romantically, and receive with much greater weight the words He wants me to obey.  That’s because love has come to what was before, consistent, but laissez-faire encounters with Jesus.  In a word, love has changed everything. 

My favorite part of the hour is what I affectionately call the afterglow.  Here’s where love has surprised me the most, and to illustrate, let me describe a more recent encounter.

 All has passed, all has been said, asked, pleaded for, tears dampen the soil under my knees.  I wait (Isaiah 64:4), and listen, and I am with him.  He puts an arm around me, and in that warm embrace I am connected to a power I can’t explain. I’ve tapped into the strength that raised Jesus and now extended to me for the purpose of deepening love, and putting desire in me to obey what he has spoken about to me for the past hour.  We are together at a favorite place: Long Valley, New Jersey.  In my mind I have scaled a mountain, using ancient switch back trails that native Americans used hundreds of years ago.  I reach a plateau, winded, but anticipating intimacy with He who has been waiting. He’s standing on a stone hedgerow by an enormous hickory tree; it’s strong scent now the one aroma I liken to the holy of holies.  When I approach, he turns and smiles, beckons me forward.  That’s when I stand next to him. We are looking out onto the length of the valley, out toward the rim of the horizon where anything is possible, and hope feels palpable.  He is speaking to me, and for every word I hear, I sense him tightening his grip.  God is hugging me, assuring me that whatever sin, disappointment, suffering, shame or dismay I bring here, His presence is enough to salve the sting, remove the stinger, and set my heart in motion to want to come back again.  My heart response is surrender. 

The afterglow is what starts and sustains the flywheel, the very thing that will keep my motivation to pray extended long after my will and strength have faded into my day-to-day obligations.