My prayer kneeler looks as fresh and new today as it did a half-dozen years ago. No evidence yet of thousands of prayers.
Prayers unprayed?
Perhaps. Honestly, at times, it could not be denied.
While I visit with my Father at my kneeler from time to time, the infrequency makes it clear that my lifetime is not long enough to make the impression that I once wished for. My husband’s knees provide assistance to fulfilling my wish, but I know not how often his knees grace the kneeler as it is his habit of stealing quiet moments there when he is alone. And my children need the quietness and security of their own bedrooms to speak to their Father, rather than coming to mine. So the kneeler is left mostly unused, always waiting for knees to bow. Still, it is a sacred place; one unblemished by piles of discarded papers, or heaps of clothing. It is reserved for prayer alone.
For some time it became a source of guilt. A reminder of prayerlessness. The beckoning of my Father left unanswered.
Then I realized…
On a table next to my kneeler sits my journal. Nearly full, it will soon join its predecessors in storage for safekeeping, and new one is ready to take its place. Unassuming spiral-bound notebooks, my journals are filled with unassuming words. Yet they are precious words because they are prayers spoken to my Father.
So while an impression may not adorn its cushion for many decades, my kneeler need not be a source of guilt. Instead it becomes a joyful reminder that my Father is indeed beckoning me, but I can come to Him through impressions etched on paper. And I come to Him with bended heart, if not always a literal bended knee.
Where are impressions being placed as you pray?
About Shelli Bourque
I write my prayers, too, Shelli, And, I have so many journals taking up space, but I do still go back and read them.
Thank you for your post!