The Joy of Talking with God
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Dear friend,
I am glad to have your letter this morning, and especially so because it is so full of encouragement and good cheer. You know I think that good cheer is not only half of every beautiful life — but when one is sick — it is fully half of the cure. Always keep your face toward the light, toward hope. Never yield to discouragement, whatever the circumstances may be.
I write to you today especially to try to answer the question which you raise with regard to prayer. You say that in the past, when you have prayed, you have finished it with a feeling of relief, as if you said, "Well, I am glad that is done." The difficulty, it seems to me, is in this, that prayer has been to you a sort of task, something that needed to be done merely as a duty, something in which there was a merit in the act — and not in the real experience. I want to help you if I can possibly do so to get away from all this feeling.
Let me illustrate. If you have a very Dear friend, do you not like to sit down and talk with him quietly now and then? Do you regard it as a task, or a pleasure? Take your husband, for example, the closest and best friend. When you have your little talk in the morning before he goes to business, when it is over, do you heave a sigh of relief and say, "I am glad that's over"? Then in the evening, when he comes in from his duties, and you sit down together for a quiet hour at the dinner table or for your evening talk, do you have the same feeling! Does it seem to you that you are simply fulfilling a duty, something that you have to do because you are his wife? I am sure this is not the case. You enter with zest and gladness into the little talks. You never think of fixing periods for conversation, merely because you happen to be his wife. If this were the case, your marriage would be simply a farce.
The same is true in a measure of every good friend, everyone you love. It gives you great joy to have talks with them. Or if there is someone you care for and who is able to help you in your difficulties and your troubles, and you write to this person, is it a task — something you are glad to get through with? Or do you take delight in it? Is it a pleasure to you to write your letter unburdening your heart, asking your questions, and then again to read the letters which come in response?
I need not apply this. What I want to help you to understand, is that Christ is your truest and best friend. As much as your husband loves you, as pure and true and strong as his affection is — Christ's love is deeper, stronger, tenderer, more gentle. Then you, being a Christian, are Christ's friend. That is, you have accepted his love, letting him into your heart, and have begun to love him in return. True religion really narrows itself down to a single statement — "Christ and I are friends." If you think of this a little, and begin to realize what Christ is to you, you will not look upon prayer any longer as something to be done, merely as a devotee twirls her beads on the string saying her little prayers — but as a joy, a delight. Prayer is simply your little talk with Christ, as you would sit down with any dear, tender, close and trusted human friend for a little talk.
Of course the friendship is not equal — for Christ is infinitely stronger than you, wiser than you and greater, and you come to him for help, to lay your burdens upon him, to bring questions to him, to seek strength and comfort from him. For example, just now, he is your true Physician. However much you may trust the doctors who are caring for you, remember always that all healing is divine healing, that human physicians, with all their wisdom and skill, can do nothing, except as Christ blesses the means they use. You go to him, therefore, to ask him to take charge of your case, to bless the physicians and the means they use. Then you go to him for other things also — for comfort, for encouragement, for cheer. John lay upon Christ's bosom, nestling there on that dark night of his sorrow, when he knew the Master was to be taken away from him. That is the way you may rest, nestling in the bosom of Christ, enfolded by his strong arms.
I have said enough now to help you to think this matter through for yourself. I am sure when you realize that Christ and you are friends, close, tender friends — that Christ is yourinfinite helper as well as your Saviour — you will not have any more trouble in praying. You will be eager to sit down at his feet, as Mary sat, listening to his words, or to lie upon his breast, as John did, catching every whisper that fell from his lips.
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