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Spirit of the living God, be the Gardener of my soul. For so long I have been waiting, silent and still — experiencing a winter of the soul. But now, in the strong name of Jesus Christ, I dare to ask:

Clear away the dead growth of the past,

Break up the hard clods of custom and routine,

Stir in the rich compost of vision and challenge,

Bury deep in my soul the implanted Word,

Cultivate and water and tend my heart,

Until new life buds and opens and flowers

Amen.

- Richard Foster, Prayers from the Heart, p. 3.

Jesus lived in this broken, painful world, learning obedience, through the things that he suffered, tempted in all the ways we are, and yet remaining without sin. We are, to be sure, reconciled by God by Jesus’ death, but even more, we are “saved” by his life (Rom. 5.10) — saved in the sense of entering into his eternal kind of life, not just in some distant heaven but right now in the midst of our broken and sorrowful world. When we carefully consider how Jesus lived while among us in the flesh, we learn how we are to live — truly live – empowered by him who is with us always even to the end of the age. We then begin an intentional imitation of Christ, not in some slavish or literal fashion, but by catching the spirit and power in which he lived and by learning to walk in his steps.

- Richard Foster, Streams of Living Water. Pg. 1.

I am, O God, a jumbled mass of motives.
One moment I am adoring you, and the next I am shaking my fist at you.
I vacillate between mounting hope, and deepening despair.
I am full of faith and full of doubt.
I want the best for others and am jealous when they get it.
Even so, God, I will not run from your presence. Nor will I pretend to be what I am not. Thank you for accepting me with all my contradictions.Amen.

- Richard Foster, Prayers of the Heart. p. 4.

Today the heart of God is an open wound of love. He aches over our distance and preoccupation. He mourns that we do not draw near to him. He grieves that we have forgotten him. He weeps over our obsession with muchness and manyness. 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 Foster, Prayer. Ch. 1