from artisaninitiatives.org

The Right Word?

 One of my ambitions in life is to become more articulate. I like talking, and do a lot of it. Therefore, it follows on that I should have made my conversation an art by now, always choosing the right words, conveying exactly what I mean to say with the right tone and emotion. I’ve tried to do all I can to improve my vocabulary - reading lots of books and speaking with people far more intelligent in the hope that their wisdom with words would rub off on me.

My search for articulacy is like my wardrobe, in that it is often a struggle to find the exact item that would fit. I have hundreds of dresses that I could wear, yet only one of them would be right. Only that electric blue one would convey exactly what it is that I want people to think, how I want them to be impressed with my wit and intelligence, and my profound insight on that complex issue. Like putting together a stunning outfit, I want people to think that my speech is carefully considered and thought about, not the first thing that comes out and makes me look like a reject from Age Concern. However, to extend the clothing metaphor a little bit further, when I’m at home with those I love the most I think nothing of wearing my oldest jogging bottoms teamed with an orange sack like reject t-shirt. Not a great look, but one I know that others will still love me in, despite my interesting style.

 So, if I can trust the ones that love me most on earth with my daggy choice of clothes, why can’t I let my Lord be happy with a less than perfect choice of words? Whenever I pray, and try to express just how much I love and need him, I search and search for the right words believing that simply by saying the correct things will equal success and answers. I’ve duped myself in to thinking that prayer will only work if I include the words ‘faithful’ and ‘provident’ and limit my well thought out ramblings to a suitable length of time. I’ve become one of those ‘babbling like pagans’.

Ok, so I may be over exaggerating slightly, but why do I think that a simply cry of ‘Lord, help me’ somehow won’t quite make the grade. All too often I let my desire for articulacy get in the way of letting my Father hear, from my mouth, the true desires and struggles of my heart. It upsets me that whenever I pray in front of other people, I always seem to pressure myself to say the most well constructed and lyrical prayer my brain can come up with. If God knows me, knows my thoughts and has promised good to me, then surely it doesn’t bother him how well I pray. He’s not judging a debating team, he’s spending time with his daughter. Surely the only people impressed by our verbal gymnastics are those that should be lost in conversation with their Lord too.

I’m not saying that we shouldn’t consider our prayer, and be aware of how our words affect others who we may be leading in prayer. However when prayer becomes a competition of articulacy, then our prayers remain in our heads and never reach our hearts. As Henri Nouwen says in ‘The Way Of The Heart’: ‘when you find satisfaction or compunction in a certain word of your prayer, stop at that point.’

Go on, let God see your jogging bottoms.

Lynda Davies works at Children’s BBC and loves her job, despite still harnessing a longing to be a pop star. In her spare time she knits, takes photographs, reads lots of books, shops too much and likes to travel. Her proudest acheivement is gaining a grade one in rollerskating.