Book Review: Prayer, by Richard J. Foster

so, one of the things i decided i want to begin doing with my blog is offering a review of the books i’m reading.  i don’t know about you, but i love to share about a good book i’m reading and why i’d recommend it.  Prayer by Richard Foster is one such book.  to allow for some consistency between reviews, i’ll have a set group of questions, followed by my answers.  feel free to comment if you have any questions or thoughts!

here goes!

what initially drew you to read this book?
Foster has been a familiar name (he authored Celebration of Discipline) for a good while now, but i finally took the plunge and read one of his books, Streams of Living Water in the spring.   that was such an incredible read that it solidified him in my mind as an author to keep on the shelves.

i initially saw Prayer on my friend’s coffee table and opened to read a few pages.  what i read had me captured and i decided it was time to really embrace this one.

the irony is that i was very much in a season of non-prayer.  many weighty concerns and heartbreaking situations were on my heart and mind, so much so that i began to feel very depressed and couldn’t find the words to even utter a prayer.  this book very much “cured” me of that.

basic overview:
“basic” and “overview” are words you could hardly use in conjunction with any of Foster’s writings.  i will try, however, to give just an idea of this book.  let’s see…it’s about prayer.  in all it’s many forms.  there are so many ways to pray, so many i didn’t even really think about there being a distinction between.  “healing prayer” and “intercessory prayer” i’d heard about, but “prayer of the suffering” and “authoritative prayer” have never crossed my horizon.  Foster goes through each one, describing the circumstances in which they can be found, why they are used, etc.  he begins each chapter with a quote from the fathers and mothers of our faith, and ends with a gentle prayer.

do you recommend this read?  why/why not?
hells yes.  Foster writes about our faith with such an incredible amount of grace.  one of my favorite lines from early in the book.  he is explaining that even prayer comes with a learning curve, and it is ok to start small.  “when you have had enough, tell God simply, ‘I must have a rest; I have no strength to be with you all the time.'”  gently, and yet with great authority, Foster makes this act of our faith a manageable item, instead of some surreal, lofty goal we can never attain.  the pages are chock full of tangible ways to approach God and prayer.  in areas of my life where i have become quite captive to my thoughts/perspective (namely the issue of free will, and whether or not talking to God is actually important, and the desperate brokenness of the world), Foster breaks down the gates and opens to the door to all the possibilities a life with God can bring.  he shares story after story of God’s people, who took a risk and asked boldly for something, and how God graciously answered.

which leads me back to what i mentioned in the first answer, that i’d been in a season of non-prayer.  this book ushered me into a season of continual prayer.  it was with a great deal of tears that i worked through several of the chapters, reading about God’s intense love.  as i read, i felt the Holy Spirit lead me to pray for others and for myself.  and i saw some immediate responses.  for example, i prayed that a certain family our church is supporting would come to church with us (from what i’ve heard, they’ve been deeply hurt by “church” in the past).  they did, and just as i was speaking to the group about having grace for themselves.  without pretension, we welcomed them in.

i prayed, in the vain of what Foster would call “the prayer of suffering”, where you literally take on the suffering of another, and then give it over to God, so as to free up that person.  i found myself awake at 3 am one morning, crying and praying for a friend who has yet to know God in a real way.  i don’t remember most of the words i said, only the deep sadness i felt.  later that week, i was able to share with him that i prayed for him, and he told me he had prayed in such a deep way, a way he had not in a very long time.

now, i acknowledge that all this credit does not belong in the hands of Richard Foster, but his writings were clearly a conduit for prayer to begin flowing again.  he even addressed my weighty concerns with hope that every prayer makes its way to the heart of the father.  “so we throw caution to the wind and pray not just for individuals but also for nations, not just for the renewal of the Church but also for the transformation of the world.”  anything and everything that weighs on hearts, he explains, also weighs on the heart of the father.  and it is through prayer that we learn to release such burdens into the hands of the One who can truly transform.

additional comments:
be patient with yourself when reading this book.  it may take a week to work through a chapter, or even just to digest it.  take your time.  journal.  open yourself to the kind of prayer Foster describes.   this book, and the work that God begins in you, will be transformative.

“today the heart of God is an open wound of love. . . .He longs for our presence.  And he is inviting you–and me–to come home, to come home to where we belong, to come home to that for which we were created.  His arms are stretched out wide to receive us.  His heart is enlarged to take us in.”
-Richard J. Foster

these dry bones.

i had the opportunity to visit Training School this Tuesday, and the first question Larry asks is “How/where has Jesus been transformative in your life?”  We were asked to divide into groups and discuss.  I paired up with the two guys closest to me and the last one to share said simply, “He brought life to these dry bones.”  Ok, he said more, but that’s the poetic synopsis.

i’ve really been wrestling with the-meaning-of-life type questions and frustrations lately, and it’s really been something that has clouded my vision and my heart.  but when this guys mentioned dry bones, i couldn’t help but think of all the times in my own journey with Christ that He has rejuvenated me, encouraged me, given me water to satisfy my parched existence.  is that enough, i pleaded silently.  is it enough to say that i do what i do simply because you’ve brought life to my own dry bones?

November is National Novel Writing Month, and with that comes a challenge to write a 50,000 word novel in a month (that translates to 1,667 words/day); i am on my fourth year accepting this challenge.  to say i’ve had writer’s block would be a complete understatement.  i started with an idea, but found that after a couple of days, i hated my story and was avoiding my computer so that i wouldn’t be faced with writing.  after much debate, i scrapped the story.  then i started another one, trying to pull details out of thin air and growing more and more frustrated.

this did not couple well with my already overwhelming frustration concerning the meaning of things.  i began to critcize myself for being good at nothing, not even a stupid challenge that thousands of people have done.

the other day, as i was writing this fictional character’s story, it hit me that maybe i was having such a struggle because i had never really told my story.  this did not excite me, but it has been interesting to see themes emerge and to find that i still feel like breaking during certain scenes.  it’s strange to remember such intense details from events that happened years and years ago, and to realize that they still bind me somehow.

just being.

i’ve taken the steps set before me.  moved through endings and new beginnings.  worked through endless 6-day weeks, trying to balance two different work situations.  busted myself trying to wrap up loose ends, training a new employee on my job, making sure she had anything she could ever need.  and all that led me…here.

wherever “here” is.  i find i have a hard time indentifying the season i’m in until it’s nearly over, and this one is no exception.  suddenly, i have only a very part-time commitment in terms of scheduled hours to a job.  i do have hours and hours of independent work to do, but all this is on my own time and schedule.  i went from having to rise at 6 am sharp to get a run/shower/food in before my 30-minute commute; now i can wake whenever i want.  run whenver i want.  make an elaborate breakfast and read an article while i sip my coffee.  i can bike to the pool in the middle of the day and have afternoon tea. 

this all sounds like i dream, i know, but i honestly don’t know what to do with myself.  i just don’t know what to do.  all this free time, i am quite aware, leads to no income of any sort.  the next season, though, will demand large amounts of my time, and during strange times, so i am hesitant to commit to even another part-time job, in fear that i will just end up quitting or it will take away from the Gallery, etc.  i keep seeking out God but mum’s the word.

something deep down whispers, just be.

just be.  such a foreign concept in our society of productivity.  to be honest, i don’t even know what that means.  for so long, my value has depended on what/how much i could produce. 

i’ve been babysitting this eve, spending time with a beautiful 9-mo-old, and if there’s one thing babies know how to do, it’s BE.  after dinner, i pulled the stroller outside and plopped him down in it, ready to take a walk.  he smiled as i strapped him in and stuck a finger in his mouth to relieve his gums of the pain of incoming teeth.  all through the walk, he sat still, never making a noise.  he had no clue where we were going, what he would see, if we’d be back in time for his beloved bottle , if i would accidentally run us both over a cliff.  none of that concerned him.  he trusted me and so felt content to be.

perhaps that is the key to this practice of  being.  if i believe i have a good God who wouldn’t lead down a path only to abandon me at the end, then i can trust the ride i’m on.  i don’t know where we’re going, what i’ll see, what will be needed from me or if i’ll have money to move into that little two-bedroom apartment i’ve been salivating over.  He does, though…i don’t claim to understand it or Him or even this process, but i am learning to trust.  i am learning to be….

so be content with who you are, and don’t put on airs.  God’s strong hand is on you; he’ll promote you at the right time.  live carefree before God, he is most careful with you.
-1 peter 5:6-7

story.

“tell me,” the older gentleman, a regular at the shop said, stopping me in my tracks.  “do you have stories inside you?”  i looked at him, puzzled.

“what?”

“do you have stories to tell?” he rephrased it.  my eyes welled up with tears as the depth of this question hit me.

“yes,” i said quietly, but with confidence.

“then you have to write.”

i had to chuckle and stand in amazement of the timing and the Divinity of his question and challenge.  i’ve wrestled for a great long while about what to do about writing.  i’ve had many affirmations over the course of time, as well as this nagging itch, but still, i just can’t get a rhythm down, a discipline to subscribe to.

still, there is an increasing desire, even a necessity, to tell a story.  and even deeper, to tell God’s stories, stories of redemption and hope.  i have repeatedly felt a kinship recently with the story of Abraham and Sara (hence, some of the stories i’ve shared here) and looking beyond the literal details of events into the heart of the story, what they must have felt, how that connects and resonates with each of us, both as humans and followers of this mysterious God.  if we can learn anything it will not just be that they obeyed or “walked out in faith,” but that they were scared shitless, faced uncertain futures with no promise of income or direction, believed against all reason in an unseen God….and obeyed anyway.  walked boldly in faith anyway…

these are the stories that need to be told.  for them, for God, for each of us.

“I just believe God’s story is about redemption,” i told another regular this morning when the asked about my tattoo.  “and therefore our stories are about redemption.”

risky business

i recently signed up for a babysitting site called care.com.  you create a profile, advertise your services and seek out jobs.  i responded to one from a family coming in to town for the Jets/Colts game, needing care for their 5-year-old daughter.  after some emails and a phone conversation, they asked me to take the job and i agreed.

i’ll admit, this felt a bit like online dating and even as i biked there, i wondered if i was insane for accepting this job from complete strangers.  would i be lured to a hotel room, only to be bound and gagged and robbed?  a million and one sick scenes played through my mind. 

of course, none of that happened.  i got to hang out with a super cool, highly energetic 5-year-old, and we spend the night playing and dancing and learning about Canada.  we settled into the bed and i turned on some soothing Ray LaMontaigne and she was out like a light. 

as i sat there, in a beautiful room in the historic Canterbury Hotel downtown, with this lovely sleeping child laying next to me and Ray playing quietly, i thought again about risk.  how rewarding it can be.

i recently risked big time in a relationship.  layed all my cards on the table, let myself be transparent and exposed.  but it wasn’t reciprocated.  some actions were taken and i was left feeling deeply hurt. 

one of the writing exercises did this week was focused on mood.  i was to enter whatever mood i was in, sit with it, write for 10 minutes without ceasing.  so i sat with my mellow mood which, as i wrote, became more of a mood of lamenting.  i realized how much i was grieving this friendship and the possibility of hope.  risk equated itself fully with pain.

the tendency at this point would be retreat, avoid any further situations  but risk, it seems, adds the color to my life.  darks and reds and bright and brilliant oranges and blues.  but color nonetheless.  on this canvas of my life, it’s what really keeps the picture from stagnating.  it pulls me off the page and into reality, keeps me alive.  really alive, not just living. 

and the truth is, if i desire to have faith, hope, love, and grace in my life, i must risk.  for none of those are safe places to walk.  they are unknown, unsure, unsteady ground.  my feet don’t always know the way, but the willingness to risk must be the shoes i wear.

the master was furious!  “that’s a terrible way to live!  it’s criminal to live cautiously like that!. . . .take the thousand and give it to the one who risked the most.”
           -matthew 25, parable of the talents