Rick Hamlin's Blog
March 27, 2013
Mountaintop Prayers
Mountains figure prominently in the Bible. Mount Sinai, where Moses received the ten commandments; Mount Ararat, where Noah landed safely after the flood; the temple mount in Jerusalem; the sermon on the Mount, where Jesus preached; and of course Calvary, where Jesus died.
Early this week, on tour for my book 10 Prayers You Can’t Live Without, I was at the Mount Hermon Christian Writers Conference in California, helping writers with their story ideas. The conference center is in the midst of the verdant redwood forests of the Santa Cruz Mountains and marked by a cross on the top of the highest hill. So early in the morning, to get some exercise and clear the brain, I ran up the hill, following the twisting and turning trails to the cross.
It seemed like just the right thing to do at the dawn of Holy Week, run to the cross while thinking about Christ’s end. What a brutal story. I thought, as I pushed along the trail in the half-light, of Jesus’ own prayers before he faced the Crucifixion.
Everybody always quotes Jesus’ prayer in the garden of Gethsemane, when he said, “Not my will but thy will be done,” but it also seems noteworthy that before that prayer of relinquishment he asked God, “Father if you are willing, remove this cup from me.”
Even on the cross he prayed, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” In times of trials, there’s no reason we shouldn’t be just as honest in our prayers. Truth to tell, when I’m at rock bottom, when I’m feeling abandoned as Jesus was by all who loved him, I don’t feel much like praying at all. Not much more than a No, God, no, which I count as one of those 10 prayers you can’t live without. When you’re desperate, at least you should let God know.
I kept running and almost at the top of hill, I tripped over a branch and fell on my knees. Ain’t that always the way, I thought. Falling at the foot of the cross. Stumbling along in my faith. Was there supposed to be some lesson here? I picked myself up, dusted myself off and made my way to the summit.
Only then could I put it together. The sun had just come up and the view was spectacular, out over the mountains and the valleys blanketed with fog. The fruit trees were blooming and I could see a dusting of pink in a few spots from the cherry trees. The view from the cross was exhilarating.
This is what I’ll have to hold on to during Holy Week, I thought. Suffering and pain are terrible but if you stay in touch with God all the while, even crying out in your misery, there’s the promise of clarity. It’s not an easy lesson in prayer, but it’s essential. Easter is at the end of the trail. The sun will rise, the trees will bloom, life will be restored. A new life better than anything that went before.
Early this week, on tour for my book 10 Prayers You Can’t Live Without, I was at the Mount Hermon Christian Writers Conference in California, helping writers with their story ideas. The conference center is in the midst of the verdant redwood forests of the Santa Cruz Mountains and marked by a cross on the top of the highest hill. So early in the morning, to get some exercise and clear the brain, I ran up the hill, following the twisting and turning trails to the cross.
It seemed like just the right thing to do at the dawn of Holy Week, run to the cross while thinking about Christ’s end. What a brutal story. I thought, as I pushed along the trail in the half-light, of Jesus’ own prayers before he faced the Crucifixion.
Everybody always quotes Jesus’ prayer in the garden of Gethsemane, when he said, “Not my will but thy will be done,” but it also seems noteworthy that before that prayer of relinquishment he asked God, “Father if you are willing, remove this cup from me.”
Even on the cross he prayed, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” In times of trials, there’s no reason we shouldn’t be just as honest in our prayers. Truth to tell, when I’m at rock bottom, when I’m feeling abandoned as Jesus was by all who loved him, I don’t feel much like praying at all. Not much more than a No, God, no, which I count as one of those 10 prayers you can’t live without. When you’re desperate, at least you should let God know.
I kept running and almost at the top of hill, I tripped over a branch and fell on my knees. Ain’t that always the way, I thought. Falling at the foot of the cross. Stumbling along in my faith. Was there supposed to be some lesson here? I picked myself up, dusted myself off and made my way to the summit.
Only then could I put it together. The sun had just come up and the view was spectacular, out over the mountains and the valleys blanketed with fog. The fruit trees were blooming and I could see a dusting of pink in a few spots from the cherry trees. The view from the cross was exhilarating.
This is what I’ll have to hold on to during Holy Week, I thought. Suffering and pain are terrible but if you stay in touch with God all the while, even crying out in your misery, there’s the promise of clarity. It’s not an easy lesson in prayer, but it’s essential. Easter is at the end of the trail. The sun will rise, the trees will bloom, life will be restored. A new life better than anything that went before.
March 21, 2013
To Talk and Pray
Giving a talk about prayer always feels a bit incongruous, because I figure if I’m with a group, wouldn’t it be better to pray rather than just talk about it? On Sunday I was at Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church talking about my book 10 Prayers You Can’t Live Without and in a wonderful way, we did a bit of both.
First, I was very glad that this was a group that liked to participate. They had needs and concerns they wanted addressed. I walked my way through the different types of prayer I’ve found important—thankfulness, petition, conversation, meditation— and of course lost count.
“How many prayers is that?” I asked. “Four so far,” said a man in the back. I talked about unanswered prayer and how it can be a struggle. Another fellow said, good-naturedly, “I’ve heard it said that God gives us four answers to prayer: Yes, No, Maybe and Forget About It!” (Or “fuggedaboutit” in New York parlance.) We laughed.
Then one woman volunteered that prayers of celebration are important. “When something good happens to you or your friends or family, we should all pray.” Wow, that’s so true. I told her that I’d have to rewrite the book and call it “Eleven Prayers You Can’t Live Without.”
Naturally we talked about how vital, how essential it is to pray for others. Here we do it at the office through OurPrayer—an inspiration to me every time I log on. But I was also thinking about the woman who asked me to sign a book for her and her husband. “He’s going to have surgery tomorrow for a brain tumor.” She was hopeful—much of the tumor seemed to be benign—but they had a young daughter and her worry was palpable.
At the end of the talk, a lady near the front said, “We need to pray for someone who’s having brain surgery tomorrow.” It turned out he was sitting all the way in the back with his daughter. “Can we do a laying-on of hands?”
That was exactly what we did, gathering in a circle, praying for his healing, for the doctors’ skill and for peace of mind for his family.
What a perfect way to end a talk on prayer. As I wrote in the book, “Every writer hopes to be read, but I would be just as happy if you stopped reading me, dog-eared a page or marked a spot in your e-read and prayed instead.” That was just what happened. Continued prayers for him.
First, I was very glad that this was a group that liked to participate. They had needs and concerns they wanted addressed. I walked my way through the different types of prayer I’ve found important—thankfulness, petition, conversation, meditation— and of course lost count.
“How many prayers is that?” I asked. “Four so far,” said a man in the back. I talked about unanswered prayer and how it can be a struggle. Another fellow said, good-naturedly, “I’ve heard it said that God gives us four answers to prayer: Yes, No, Maybe and Forget About It!” (Or “fuggedaboutit” in New York parlance.) We laughed.
Then one woman volunteered that prayers of celebration are important. “When something good happens to you or your friends or family, we should all pray.” Wow, that’s so true. I told her that I’d have to rewrite the book and call it “Eleven Prayers You Can’t Live Without.”
Naturally we talked about how vital, how essential it is to pray for others. Here we do it at the office through OurPrayer—an inspiration to me every time I log on. But I was also thinking about the woman who asked me to sign a book for her and her husband. “He’s going to have surgery tomorrow for a brain tumor.” She was hopeful—much of the tumor seemed to be benign—but they had a young daughter and her worry was palpable.
At the end of the talk, a lady near the front said, “We need to pray for someone who’s having brain surgery tomorrow.” It turned out he was sitting all the way in the back with his daughter. “Can we do a laying-on of hands?”
That was exactly what we did, gathering in a circle, praying for his healing, for the doctors’ skill and for peace of mind for his family.
What a perfect way to end a talk on prayer. As I wrote in the book, “Every writer hopes to be read, but I would be just as happy if you stopped reading me, dog-eared a page or marked a spot in your e-read and prayed instead.” That was just what happened. Continued prayers for him.
March 15, 2013
Prayer on the Run
Anybody who prays knows that we all have to pray “on the go,” so I don’t think you should ever be apologetic about where and when you pray, because the more creative you are about finding ways to pray, the more possible it is to satisfy that sometimes baffling and always enchanting admonition of Paul’s “to pray without ceasing.”
This morning, with the skies clear and the temperature just above freezing, I did something I haven’t done in a while: run to work. It’s a nine-and-a-half mile route along the Hudson River and then through busy Manhattan streets, right past the windows of Good Morning America in Times Square and finally to our offices, our miracle on 34th St., in the shadow of the Empire State Building.
Lately on my runs I’ve used the time to pray through a few verses of a psalm, the words on a slip of paper I hold in my gloved hand. This morning, though, it was really dark, the clocks having just been turned back. I looked to my slip of paper and remembered that Psalm 51 starts out with, “Have mercy on me, O God, according to your loving-kindness...” But what came next? No way could I see those words in the moonless dark of the pre-dawn. What would I do for the next nine miles besides huffing and puffing? Those fragments of psalms take my mind off of the drudgery.
Then I remembered a story we ran in the magazine by Jeff Grabosky, who ran 3,700 miles across the country. Talk about challenges! How did he do it? Early on the route, jogging through the California desert, the sun blazing and his feet feeling “like they were being barbecued on the superheated highway,” he remembered how praying for others took his mind off himself. He looked down at his phone and checked a message: There it was, someone asking for prayer.
I went through the list in my head of people who needed prayer: a buddy from church who’s struggling through cancer treatments, a family out in California who lost their dad from a sudden heart attack, a colleague whose son is in the midst of a health crisis. The list was endless and as I concentrated on it, focusing on sorrows that weren’t my own, I stopped counting the miles.
I arrived at the office before anyone was here. Made some tea, and looked to my slip of paper with Psalm 51: “For behold, you look for truth deep within me, and will make me understand wisdom secretly.” On the road and off it. I had a bowl of cereal, checked my emails, then headed to the gym to shower and change, ready for a good day of work.
This morning, with the skies clear and the temperature just above freezing, I did something I haven’t done in a while: run to work. It’s a nine-and-a-half mile route along the Hudson River and then through busy Manhattan streets, right past the windows of Good Morning America in Times Square and finally to our offices, our miracle on 34th St., in the shadow of the Empire State Building.
Lately on my runs I’ve used the time to pray through a few verses of a psalm, the words on a slip of paper I hold in my gloved hand. This morning, though, it was really dark, the clocks having just been turned back. I looked to my slip of paper and remembered that Psalm 51 starts out with, “Have mercy on me, O God, according to your loving-kindness...” But what came next? No way could I see those words in the moonless dark of the pre-dawn. What would I do for the next nine miles besides huffing and puffing? Those fragments of psalms take my mind off of the drudgery.
Then I remembered a story we ran in the magazine by Jeff Grabosky, who ran 3,700 miles across the country. Talk about challenges! How did he do it? Early on the route, jogging through the California desert, the sun blazing and his feet feeling “like they were being barbecued on the superheated highway,” he remembered how praying for others took his mind off himself. He looked down at his phone and checked a message: There it was, someone asking for prayer.
I went through the list in my head of people who needed prayer: a buddy from church who’s struggling through cancer treatments, a family out in California who lost their dad from a sudden heart attack, a colleague whose son is in the midst of a health crisis. The list was endless and as I concentrated on it, focusing on sorrows that weren’t my own, I stopped counting the miles.
I arrived at the office before anyone was here. Made some tea, and looked to my slip of paper with Psalm 51: “For behold, you look for truth deep within me, and will make me understand wisdom secretly.” On the road and off it. I had a bowl of cereal, checked my emails, then headed to the gym to shower and change, ready for a good day of work.
March 8, 2013
Gratitude Is a Prayer
Many years ago when I was a fledging magazine editor my boss asked me to do something that seemed a useless, thankless task. Back then I edited the column in the magazine, today’s “Upside,” that was a collection of quotes. Finding good, inspiring quotes was hard, and what seemed even harder is that he wanted me to go back to my desk, look at all the quotes I’d run, and write a list of all the people who had helped me find those quotes. Every last one of them.
I didn’t say no, but I sure did object to doing it. It took the better part of a day. I went through files and checked back through dog-eared pages, writing down names, lots of them, and just how much help all those people had given me. Oh, my word, what a revelation. This column, which I had conveniently congratulated myself for creating month after month…it was not the work of one heroic junior editor. It was put together by a team, and every one of them deserved thanks. When I finished the exercise I was overcome with gratitude.
I was thinking of that lesson the other day when I got my first copy of 10 Prayers You Can’t Live Without. The thing that pleased me most about the book, the pages I was most thrilled to read (and my colleague Colleen Hughes has beat me to the punch) were the Acknowledgements. In this life, there never seem to be enough chances to thank the people that make any of our achievements possible. Sure, I get impatient at the awards shows, like the Grammys and the Oscars, when people yammer on incessantly about all the people that have helped them. But the instinct is right and prayerful.
In the book I put a chapter in about the prayer “Thanks.” Times in my life when I found prayer hard to come by, when I wasn’t sure what my words could be, when I didn’t feel close to God or when I felt out of sorts with myself and hobbled by a sense of failure, “Thanks” has never failed to work. It’s put me back in touch with God and with the best part of myself. Because when you thank someone else for what they’ve done for you, you are also thanking God for putting them in your life and making you the person you need to be. Success is paved with gratitude.
Thanks dear ones. Thank you every reader of this blog. Thank you every person who ever prayed for me. Thank you every person who asked me to pray for. Thank you my friends and family for helping me write a book. My one source of anxiety: there surely is someone I forget to mention on that Acknowledgements page. Good Lord, let me know who that is so I can thank them.
I didn’t say no, but I sure did object to doing it. It took the better part of a day. I went through files and checked back through dog-eared pages, writing down names, lots of them, and just how much help all those people had given me. Oh, my word, what a revelation. This column, which I had conveniently congratulated myself for creating month after month…it was not the work of one heroic junior editor. It was put together by a team, and every one of them deserved thanks. When I finished the exercise I was overcome with gratitude.
I was thinking of that lesson the other day when I got my first copy of 10 Prayers You Can’t Live Without. The thing that pleased me most about the book, the pages I was most thrilled to read (and my colleague Colleen Hughes has beat me to the punch) were the Acknowledgements. In this life, there never seem to be enough chances to thank the people that make any of our achievements possible. Sure, I get impatient at the awards shows, like the Grammys and the Oscars, when people yammer on incessantly about all the people that have helped them. But the instinct is right and prayerful.
In the book I put a chapter in about the prayer “Thanks.” Times in my life when I found prayer hard to come by, when I wasn’t sure what my words could be, when I didn’t feel close to God or when I felt out of sorts with myself and hobbled by a sense of failure, “Thanks” has never failed to work. It’s put me back in touch with God and with the best part of myself. Because when you thank someone else for what they’ve done for you, you are also thanking God for putting them in your life and making you the person you need to be. Success is paved with gratitude.
Thanks dear ones. Thank you every reader of this blog. Thank you every person who ever prayed for me. Thank you every person who asked me to pray for. Thank you my friends and family for helping me write a book. My one source of anxiety: there surely is someone I forget to mention on that Acknowledgements page. Good Lord, let me know who that is so I can thank them.
March 1, 2013
The Truth About the Lord's Prayer
Some things are so obvious it takes me years to see them.
I’ve prayed The Lord’s Prayer all my life, but only recently when someone pointed out something about the prayer, something I’ve probably heard a million times before, did it really hit me and make a difference to my prayer life.
It’s all in the first-person plural. “Our Father…give us this day our daily bread…forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us…lead us not into temptation.” It’s as though Jesus was reminding the disciples and us that you really can’t pray for yourself by yourself without somehow praying for others. Or put it another way: when you pray for yourself, you’re also mystically involving everyone else who has needs. We’re all in this together.
So what should this mean to my prayer life – or our prayer life? (Not for nothing do we call our prayer ministry at Guideposts OurPrayer.) When I get stuck and too wrapped up in my own concerns, which I must tell you happens quite frequently, I remember or am reminded of someone else who needs help, someone who needs it in fact even more desperately than me.
I heard myself recently say at a retreat that it’s a measure of my mental health as well as spiritual health: the more I’m praying for others the better off I am. In fact, when I was working on my book (soon to be published) 10 Prayers You Can’t Live Without I found myself putting it this way, “When you’re not sure what to pray or how to pray, say a prayer for someone else.” All those people who need prayers, what a favor they’re doing for us, enhancing our lives as we do our best to reach out to help them. “I’ll keep you in my prayers,” is one of the loveliest things you can say to yourself and anyone.
“Our Father…give us this day our daily bread…forgive us our sins…” I’m sure it’s obvious to you, but it’s taken me decades to figure this out. Hey, give me another few decades and I might have another epiphany. For now, I’m working on this one. Got a prayer that needs to be answered? Tell me what it is. I want to pray for you. For me. For all of us together.
I’ve prayed The Lord’s Prayer all my life, but only recently when someone pointed out something about the prayer, something I’ve probably heard a million times before, did it really hit me and make a difference to my prayer life.
It’s all in the first-person plural. “Our Father…give us this day our daily bread…forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us…lead us not into temptation.” It’s as though Jesus was reminding the disciples and us that you really can’t pray for yourself by yourself without somehow praying for others. Or put it another way: when you pray for yourself, you’re also mystically involving everyone else who has needs. We’re all in this together.
So what should this mean to my prayer life – or our prayer life? (Not for nothing do we call our prayer ministry at Guideposts OurPrayer.) When I get stuck and too wrapped up in my own concerns, which I must tell you happens quite frequently, I remember or am reminded of someone else who needs help, someone who needs it in fact even more desperately than me.
I heard myself recently say at a retreat that it’s a measure of my mental health as well as spiritual health: the more I’m praying for others the better off I am. In fact, when I was working on my book (soon to be published) 10 Prayers You Can’t Live Without I found myself putting it this way, “When you’re not sure what to pray or how to pray, say a prayer for someone else.” All those people who need prayers, what a favor they’re doing for us, enhancing our lives as we do our best to reach out to help them. “I’ll keep you in my prayers,” is one of the loveliest things you can say to yourself and anyone.
“Our Father…give us this day our daily bread…forgive us our sins…” I’m sure it’s obvious to you, but it’s taken me decades to figure this out. Hey, give me another few decades and I might have another epiphany. For now, I’m working on this one. Got a prayer that needs to be answered? Tell me what it is. I want to pray for you. For me. For all of us together.
February 26, 2013
For Those Who Mourn
I’d been thinking a lot of my neighbor and buddy Michael and praying for him ever since I got the news that his wife died after a long battle with cancer – well, maybe not as long as some, but a year ago she was diagnosed and now she’s gone. I ache for him, which I’ve been telling myself is just part of the prayer process. Listen to that ache and share it with God. “Hold Michael up,” I say. “Be with him.”
She wasn’t that old, not much older than me, and not only does she leave Michael behind but she leaves a 23-year-old son too. I wasn’t able to visit her in hospice because I had a terrible cough and cold the two weeks she was there and knew I couldn’t risk exposing her or others to my bug. Then when she died, I was far away in Africa, not even making it back for the memorial. But there was a moment on safari, when I looked up at an acacia tree outside my tent, the noonday sun illuminating the branches, and I thought with both an ache and relief, “She’s gone.” Her suffering was over. Later I found out it happened that day.
Yesterday I finally saw Michael heading to the park on his morning run as I was coming back, the two of us guys hugging each other in our sweats, then standing on the cold sidewalk, remembering a remarkable woman. “You still running regularly?” I asked him.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m trying to keep to a schedule.”
“You were married to a woman who was all about schedules. She kept us all on schedule.” I thought of the terrific job she did keeping us organized when Michael and I were running the neighborhood baseball league for kids. Michael might have been the commissioner but she was the one who made sure things happened.
“You know,” he said wistfully, “for thirty-seven years I saw myself as a red balloon that would have blown away if I didn’t have someone holding on to the string and keeping me grounded. That’s what she did for me.”
“Your ballast,” I suggested, mixing up the metaphors. But then, what else do you do when coping with something as big as grief? “You’ll be okay,” I said. “We’ll see you for dinner on Saturday?”
“Yeah, we’re looking forward to it.” I gave him another hug and we went back to our runs, part of our schedules.
"Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted," Jesus said. I hope I participated in some way in that process. You listen, you pray, you remember, you talk, you give a hug, and you don’t forget because loss is a thing we all share. Mourning and comforting is part of following Jesus.
She wasn’t that old, not much older than me, and not only does she leave Michael behind but she leaves a 23-year-old son too. I wasn’t able to visit her in hospice because I had a terrible cough and cold the two weeks she was there and knew I couldn’t risk exposing her or others to my bug. Then when she died, I was far away in Africa, not even making it back for the memorial. But there was a moment on safari, when I looked up at an acacia tree outside my tent, the noonday sun illuminating the branches, and I thought with both an ache and relief, “She’s gone.” Her suffering was over. Later I found out it happened that day.
Yesterday I finally saw Michael heading to the park on his morning run as I was coming back, the two of us guys hugging each other in our sweats, then standing on the cold sidewalk, remembering a remarkable woman. “You still running regularly?” I asked him.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m trying to keep to a schedule.”
“You were married to a woman who was all about schedules. She kept us all on schedule.” I thought of the terrific job she did keeping us organized when Michael and I were running the neighborhood baseball league for kids. Michael might have been the commissioner but she was the one who made sure things happened.
“You know,” he said wistfully, “for thirty-seven years I saw myself as a red balloon that would have blown away if I didn’t have someone holding on to the string and keeping me grounded. That’s what she did for me.”
“Your ballast,” I suggested, mixing up the metaphors. But then, what else do you do when coping with something as big as grief? “You’ll be okay,” I said. “We’ll see you for dinner on Saturday?”
“Yeah, we’re looking forward to it.” I gave him another hug and we went back to our runs, part of our schedules.
"Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted," Jesus said. I hope I participated in some way in that process. You listen, you pray, you remember, you talk, you give a hug, and you don’t forget because loss is a thing we all share. Mourning and comforting is part of following Jesus.
