“how can i pray for you?” she asked in an email she sent me a few weeks ago.
the phraseology struck me.
i had always asked, “is there anything i can pray about for you?”, as if some days, my friends don’t need prayer, as if some days, i didn’t need to exert myself that way on their behalf.
she took for granted there were situations in my life that needed prayer. and she was right, because there were.
i could always give a little more grace.
i could always stop before i snipe or fire off some other ungrateful remark. i could keep my mouth shut more often than i open it. i could lay down pride and be told instead of doing the telling or even just defending what i’ve decided i will do.
i could think, for once.
i could, if i would remember to stop fighting the wrong battles.
as the church, as His body, we’re meant to pray and fight, for each other and with each other. not against each other. not with some and without others. together. as one. as His.
but we nurture secret pride, and salvo begets salvo, and we’re limping along, not just because we’re fighting sin but because we’re fighting the body at the same time.
we’re meant to consider others better than ourselves and not just lay ourselves and our sins down but nail them, firmly, decisively, to the cross. so i clench up tiny fists and i pray the Conqueror of death will teach me how to die.
because i believe firmly that to live a life worth living, we must live a life of dying.