This is an article I wrote for North’s recent prayer retreat. I’d love to hear what you guys think about it (granted there are any guys out there who still look at this). Also…I’m gonna try to post a few more things on here. I’ve just been too busy to think lately!

Prayer and worship are intricately woven together. Throughout the Psalms, it’s often hard to separate and categorize which phrases are prayer and which are worship. David often begins with thanksgiving for God’s saving hand from previous hardships and ends with pleas for deliverance in current struggles (Psalm 9). Other times, he starts with praise to God for His unchanging attributes of character and finishes with cries for God to search him and lead him into new places of personal truth and freedom (Psalm 19; 139). Even the apostle Paul tells us to mingle our prayers and supplications with a foundation of thanksgiving (Phil 4:6). Prayer and worship are deeply connected. In my own life, I find a consistent pattern at work within my worship and prayer. Prayer is always the end result of worship.
The process of my personal worship times generally consists of a time to reflect, a time to respond, a time for God to reveal, and a time for request. They sometimes follow exactly in order and sometimes blend seamlessly together. I generally begin by taking time to reflect and meditate on who God is (Ex 34:6-8) and what He’s done in my life. I recount the testimonies recorded in scripture that give ageless examples of what God is like and how He responds to people and situations. I then remind myself of the state of my heart when Jesus found me, rescued me, and restored me. I remind myself of how He first loved me and gave Himself for me, so I could have communion with Him. Out of that reflection is immediately sparked a response… a spring and overflow of thanksgiving and love. Through song or word or thought, my entire being rises up to worship. As I remember His benefits, I respond and bless the Lord (Psalm 103). It is always in the midst of this, that I am overwhelmed by a new revelation of who God is, or a new emphasis on an aspect of His character, or a deeper understanding of His goodness. As I fix my eyes on Jesus (Heb 12:2), I am faced with the reality of who He is and who I truly am. As I behold His glory, I am transformed (II Cor. 3:18). I am then left with nothing except to request, to beseech, to inquire. I ask for God to save me. I ask for God to change me. I ask Him to increase, and that I might decrease (John 3:30). I cry for him to free me from every weight, sin and hindrance and to bind my heart to His cross (Heb 12:1). I ask to know Him deeper and to love Him more completely. As God reveals Himself to me, I always desire to be more like Him. My worship always ends in prayer.

Take the time to lead your heart into this journey:
reflect, respond, reveal, request

When I was a kid, I wanted to be a fireman.  Then a ninja.  Then Lt. Pete “Maverick” Mitchell.  But mostly I wanted to be a cowboy, not so much like Wyatt Earp, but more like Troy Aikman.  I would actually dress up in the attire of “America’s Team” and set up mock, one-man game situations in my basement.  The funny thing is I would never act like I was hitting Alvin Harper on a deep post or buying time in the pocket as (pre-cowboy) Charles Haley screamed around the corner.  I never actually even wore a helmet.  I just imagined that I was standing on the sideline, hands on hips, wearing a straight-billed baseball cap.  I’m sure this points to some very questionable things in my personality, but at least I looked the part of an NFL Quarterback, even if it wasn’t the right part.

I definitely never wanted to be a worship leader.  I would have never dreamed that someday people would make a living singing songs in church.  And I’m pretty sure no one born before 1989 did either.  And because I never thought of worship leading as a vocation to be earned, I never tried to earn it.  I never sought it.  I never dressed up.

And though there are so many good things to come from this modern explosion of musical worship, I fear that we have made worship leading something to strive for and attain.  Something to grasp and grab more than something that we’ve been undeniably set apart to do and be.  I dressed up like Troy Aikman because I wanted to be him.  But I didn’t practice like him. I didn’t train like him.   I didn’t spend hours throwing the ball through a swinging tire. All I did was try to look like him.  It’s easy to look like a worship leader, but it’s much different to be a lover.  A seeker.  A proclaimer of the glory of God.  Let us not be those that seek to look the part, but that rather live the part.

Psalm 119:19

I feel out of place most days. It’s not overwhelming, but it’s always there. Subtle, yet still obvious. Like the buzzing of an alarm clock in the moments before you fully wake. My roots go deep here. Twenty-four years deep. Fifty or so miles is all the geography I know well enough to love and call home. There’s definitely nothing wrong with here. In fact, most everything is right and good. It’s just not satisfying. This just isn’t it.

The problem is, I don’t know where “it” is. I catch glimpses of it often though. More so this year than any others previous. It’s alive. It’s electric. It’s definitely romantic (not in a “actress formerly known as Meg Ryan movie” way, but more of a “things are never as good as they seem” way). But its attraction to me is undeniable. I feel it most when I’m in New York City. Which has only been fourteen accumulated days. I feel “it” everywhere there. Walking the streets. Riding the subway. I even feel it when I’m fast asleep. It’s surrounding,…encompassing…enveloping. For me, New York City is the arch-type of “it”. The essence of home. It’s amazing that in a city of more than eight million people, I feel relaxed, even comfortable just about everywhere. I am surrounded by people like me. Different, but the same. Familiar…family even.
Of course I, like any small town kid, enjoy the amenities that city life offers. The food. The culture. The high crime rate. But even now, I enjoy all things city. I enjoy downtowns (even what little we have). I enjoy being surrounded by people. I even enjoy indie music. I’m in love with the polis.

I also tend to be maniacally competitive. So part of the allure of urban life is wrapped up in the question of “can I survive”? And even more importantly, “can I win”? I’d really like to know. I’m even ok if I don’t make it. I just must know. And maybe arrogantly, maybe ignorantly- I think I do know.
I can’t help but think that a lot of people feel this way. Maybe all of us that put our hope in Immanuel are keenly aware of this grave misplacement. This constant feeling that something remains out of order. We are even written of as being strangers…aliens…sojourners.

Wonderers ,though, we are not. We know where our home lies. We know where our journey ends, while not always knowing where it leads. We do ,however get fleeting foretastes. Swift previews of it. And oh, how they cause my heart to awaken. To become alive. Become electric. And these may be the only thing remaining in this age that aren’t romantic.

Because it will be better than all expectations and all hoping. Better than our requests and our imaginations. More beautiful than anything eye has beheld and more delightful than anything to ever fall on listening ears. We have a home. How my heart longs for it.
Maranatha