By Martha Pope Gorris
God looks not at the oratory of your prayers, how elegant they may be; nor at the geometry of your prayers, how long they may be; nor at the arithmetic of your prayers, how many they may be; not at the logic of your prayers, how methodical they may be; but at the sincerity of them He looks at.
~Thomas Brooks
When our daughter announced her wedding would be in Hawaii where she lived, my husband and I started planning. Since we lived in California, it would be challenging to throw parties for the two weeks we'd be in Honolulu. We decided to lease a two-bedroom condo large enough for others to stay with us -- the bridesmaids could dress there the day of the wedding, and we could host family dinners and a surprise shower for Kim.
God looks not at the oratory of your prayers, how elegant they may be; nor at the geometry of your prayers, how long they may be; nor at the arithmetic of your prayers, how many they may be; not at the logic of your prayers, how methodical they may be; but at the sincerity of them He looks at.
~Thomas Brooks
When our daughter announced her wedding would be in Hawaii where she lived, my husband and I started planning. Since we lived in California, it would be challenging to throw parties for the two weeks we'd be in Honolulu. We decided to lease a two-bedroom condo large enough for others to stay with us -- the bridesmaids could dress there the day of the wedding, and we could host family dinners and a surprise shower for Kim.
During the months leading up to the wedding, I prayed over all the details. Every mother of the bride wants her daughter's special day to be beautiful and memorable. As I prayed, I visualized an open, airy condominium overlooking the ocean with a beautiful view of Waikiki beach and the famous Diamond Head crater. Whenever I prayed about it, the exact same picture popped up. I believed God was showing me the place He had for us.
As my husband and I made calls to locate a condo, we ran into a major roadblock. The week we requested fell over President's Day weekend. Everything in Honolulu seemed to be booked.
Meanwhile, I kept busy, shopping for my dress and designing and making invitations for a surprise shower with "location to be announced." Time was quickly running out. A week before the wedding, we still didn't have a condo lined up.
Two nights before I flew out to help with pre-wedding preparations, my husband got a call. A two-bedroom condo had opened up two blocks from Waikiki beach. Did we want it? We'd never rented something sight unseen, but this time there was no hesitation.
"Yes, yes!" Fred said.
He hung up the phone and I hugged him, relieved that our prayers had been answered. Joyfully, I anticipated a beautiful place for the festivities -- the place I saw every time I prayed.
Soon I flew to Hawaii to help my daughter. I stayed with her until Fred arrived and we checked into our condo.
When we arrived at the high-rise, we were given the keys to our unit on the sixth floor.
Fred opened the door and wheeled our luggage into the living room. I followed, my heart sinking lower and lower with each step. There was barely room to navigate around our luggage in the tiny room. This wasn't what I had pictured at all!
How could we have a party with twenty people in this cramped space?
The two bedrooms were hardly bigger than walk-in closets. No way would the bridesmaids be able to dress there; they'd trip all over each other. The small grubby bathroom had black mold in the corners. The view out the dark little living room window overlooked the roofs of neighboring buildings. No ocean. No Diamond Head. No Waikiki beach. Was this some kind of dirty trick?
I threw myself into a chair, held my head in my hands and started to sob. Fred tried to comfort me by saying something like, "We'll just make lemonade, dear."
"But this isn't the picture God gave me," I said between tears. I waved my arms around the tiny living space. "This isn't big enough for a shower, or even a family dinner. There's not even a table to sit at!"
Fred looked around and his silence told me he agreed. "Let's see if we can do something else," he said, picking up the phone.
I didn't hold out much hope. After all, everything was booked.
Why had God given me that grandiose picture if this was all we would end up with?
"Yes, yes, we'd like to take a look," I heard Fred say. He hung up and headed for the door. "Come on. They have a penthouse that's not rented because it's ready to undergo renovation."
"Oh, great. Another dump," I mumbled under my breath.
We got to the top floor and the clerk met us in the hall, explaining that all the other penthouses had been remodeled and were renting for exorbitant prices. This particular unit was the last to be worked on. Demolition would start next week. If we wanted it, he would let us have it for an additional, but nominal fee. He swung open the door and we stepped inside.
Huge glass windows showcased a 180 degree view of Waikiki, Diamond Head and miles of ocean. Sunshine poured through large windows in every room. Two large bedrooms bordered the living space, with two bathrooms complete with washer and dryer. The lovely living room had a wide screen TV and complete stereo system. A full kitchen had everything we needed. This spacious, light, cheery condo was exactly what I had visualized, but even bigger and better than I had prayed for.
Seeing images is another way God speaks to us, another form of listening to Him. When I flip through our daughter's wedding album and see the beautiful views from that penthouse, I am reminded of how God gives us more than we expect, through pictures in a prayer.
As my husband and I made calls to locate a condo, we ran into a major roadblock. The week we requested fell over President's Day weekend. Everything in Honolulu seemed to be booked.
Meanwhile, I kept busy, shopping for my dress and designing and making invitations for a surprise shower with "location to be announced." Time was quickly running out. A week before the wedding, we still didn't have a condo lined up.
Two nights before I flew out to help with pre-wedding preparations, my husband got a call. A two-bedroom condo had opened up two blocks from Waikiki beach. Did we want it? We'd never rented something sight unseen, but this time there was no hesitation.
"Yes, yes!" Fred said.
He hung up the phone and I hugged him, relieved that our prayers had been answered. Joyfully, I anticipated a beautiful place for the festivities -- the place I saw every time I prayed.
Soon I flew to Hawaii to help my daughter. I stayed with her until Fred arrived and we checked into our condo.
When we arrived at the high-rise, we were given the keys to our unit on the sixth floor.
Fred opened the door and wheeled our luggage into the living room. I followed, my heart sinking lower and lower with each step. There was barely room to navigate around our luggage in the tiny room. This wasn't what I had pictured at all!
How could we have a party with twenty people in this cramped space?
The two bedrooms were hardly bigger than walk-in closets. No way would the bridesmaids be able to dress there; they'd trip all over each other. The small grubby bathroom had black mold in the corners. The view out the dark little living room window overlooked the roofs of neighboring buildings. No ocean. No Diamond Head. No Waikiki beach. Was this some kind of dirty trick?
I threw myself into a chair, held my head in my hands and started to sob. Fred tried to comfort me by saying something like, "We'll just make lemonade, dear."
"But this isn't the picture God gave me," I said between tears. I waved my arms around the tiny living space. "This isn't big enough for a shower, or even a family dinner. There's not even a table to sit at!"
Fred looked around and his silence told me he agreed. "Let's see if we can do something else," he said, picking up the phone.
I didn't hold out much hope. After all, everything was booked.
Why had God given me that grandiose picture if this was all we would end up with?
"Yes, yes, we'd like to take a look," I heard Fred say. He hung up and headed for the door. "Come on. They have a penthouse that's not rented because it's ready to undergo renovation."
"Oh, great. Another dump," I mumbled under my breath.
We got to the top floor and the clerk met us in the hall, explaining that all the other penthouses had been remodeled and were renting for exorbitant prices. This particular unit was the last to be worked on. Demolition would start next week. If we wanted it, he would let us have it for an additional, but nominal fee. He swung open the door and we stepped inside.
Huge glass windows showcased a 180 degree view of Waikiki, Diamond Head and miles of ocean. Sunshine poured through large windows in every room. Two large bedrooms bordered the living space, with two bathrooms complete with washer and dryer. The lovely living room had a wide screen TV and complete stereo system. A full kitchen had everything we needed. This spacious, light, cheery condo was exactly what I had visualized, but even bigger and better than I had prayed for.
Seeing images is another way God speaks to us, another form of listening to Him. When I flip through our daughter's wedding album and see the beautiful views from that penthouse, I am reminded of how God gives us more than we expect, through pictures in a prayer.
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