Good morning

In a book I'm reading, Mark Batterson points out, "God couldn’t care less about protocol. If He did, Jesus would have chosen the Pharisees as His disciples. But that isn’t who Jesus honored. Jesus honored the prostitute who crashed a party at a Pharisee’s home to anoint His feet. Jesus honored the tax collector who climbed a tree in his three-piece suit just to get a glimpse of Jesus. Jesus honored the four friends who cut in line and cut a hole in someone’s ceiling to help their friend... The common denominator in each of these stories is holy desperation. People took desperate measures to get to God, and God honored them for it. Nothing has changed. God is still honoring spiritual desperadoes who crash parties and climb trees. God is still honoring those who defy protocol with their bold prayers. God is still honoring those who pray with audacity and tenacity."

Those words challenge my prayer life.  I sit on my stone patio, looking at the morning sunbeams making patterns through the trees on the neatly cut grass.  I sip my dark roast coffee and adjust my reclining patio chair ever so slightly so the light hits my iPad just right.  I think about how desperate I am.  Not very much, I reckon.  It's hard to be desperate when you're comfortable.  My neighbor starts up his lawn mower.  I hate it when he disturbs my morning like that.

The morning news is that a medical center in Liberia was looted.  It was being used as a quarantine for Ebola victims.  The looters carried away blood stained mattresses and pillows with vomit on them.   It's not hard to imagine what the consequences of that will be.  People in Iraq, Iran and Syria continue to flee to already overcrowded refugee camps in neighbouring states in the face of the horrors being committed by ISIS (Islamic State of Iraq and Syria).  Hamas shoots people in the legs for failing to obey curfew, as they continue their war on Israel.   Polish logistic companies are going bankrupt in the aftermath of Russia's ban on EU produce.  Unrest continues to plague a Midwestern US city in the aftermath of a police shooting.

Will I yawn and go about my day, or will I stop and pray for those who are so very desperate?  Will I just read about it and do nothing, or will I join them in their desperation - crying out to God for relief, for justice, for mercy, for restoration, reconciliation and healing?   Will I ask the Spirit of God to fill me with holy passion for His Kingdom come, or will I let my mind wander on?  

In the quietness of a Monday morning in the suburbs and without a sound reaching the street, I make one of many of life's little decisions.