Gates of Brass

I know I haven’t been blogging much, but if I don’t talk about this, I think I’m going to blow up.

I’ve been pretty low, lately. Pretty much in a funk.

But the Lord has really GOOD hearing, and can even hear you when you’re lying face down in a wagon wheel rut. Which works out well for the downtrodden, I must say.

Work has been slim, money’s been tight, and I have felt adrift, a lot like somebody bobbing on a bamboo life raft in the middle of the Pacific. With sharks circling and jellyfish floating all around me. Deserted and in danger. And fresh out of hope. I have been laboring under the unwanted step-child mentality: the same prayers are going up, over and over again, and since no answers seem to be forthcoming, the conclusion I invariably find myself coming to is that I am NOT His precious, or otherwise, wouldn’t He be answering my prayers?

So, I was in the bathroom early in the morning, when no one else was up, talking out loud to God. I told Him I was fresh out of faith, and since faith is a gift, I would sure appreciate it if He could send me a load. And sooner would be better than later.

He did. In church. Sometimes, I am just amazed by the Holy Spirit’s working in my life. We were singing a song by Godfrey Birtill, and the lyrics go like this:

Lift up your heads , you gates of brass!

You bars of iron yield!

And let the King of glory pass;

The cross is in the field.

We had sung this song the previous week at church, and Godfrey had talked about spiritual warfare, and how worship is doing battle in the heavenlies, and to me, the faithless one, it was so much yada, yada, yada at the time. So on this particular Sunday, as we began singing this song, I had one of those: “Oh, my gosh!” moments, as I realized that the gates of brass and the bars of iron were over my own heart. And suddenly something inside me shifted: I wanted to let the King of Glory pass, inside, past the barriers I had erected to protect my disappointed heart.

So then, the feller who spoke to the congregation before we took communion talked about how when we are faithless, He is faithful. I started feeling like all of church had been a set-up. How did they KNOW what I was thinking??? (God is so good that way.)

And then, following church, someone gave us a beautiful gift, and said to us that God had put it on her heart to give us this gift a month ago, but she hadn’t yet acted on it, but felt strongly at church that this was the day that she was to give us this gift. Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather. I had already had my sweet reconciliation moment with the Lord. And now He sends us this as well???

I’m not going to steal this beautiful lady’s reward by mentioning her name, or by talking anymore about what she gave us, but I do want to say that all these lovely things that happened at church that morning wouldn’t have meant nearly as much had I not cried out a little two sentence prayer of desperation that morning, while I was standing up going about my daily routine.

It is a beautiful thing to me that our Father hears lots of different types of prayers. They don’t have to be offered from your knees. They don’t have to offered any particular way. What matters is our soul, communicating with our Father.

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