Some prayers just happen; they are “the cry of the heart.” No training needed when it comes to this kind of prayer. I’ve uttered it thousands of times. Bet you have, too.Like when the phone rings and the bad news starts to spill and all you can do is say, Father...Father...Father, your heart crying out to God. It’s a good kind of prayer, rising from the deep places in us, often unbidden, always welcome to his loving ears. But I think most folks get stuck there, which is kind of like ending your education somewhere around fourth grade. There is more. 

When I met Kevin, I was six months into a year of volunteering in Philadelphia. The year was about “incarnational living,” a term that was often interpreted to mean “being the hands and feet of Jesus to the people in our neighborhood.” When I met Kevin, I was six months into a year of volunteering in Philadelphia. The year was about “incarnational living,” a term that was often interpreted to mean “being the hands and feet of Jesus to the people in our neighborhood.” I lived with five other young women, sharing meals to make our food budget of $17 per person, per week, stretch a little further.

Well, it’s finally summer. With that comes gloriously long days, board shorts that don’t fit quite right after a winter of hearty meals, and the call of water. Here in Minnesota, we’ve got lakes galore (way more than 10,000), but at the moment, I’m missing the tide. There’s something about the ocean. Something about salty air and the endless horizon that has hooked men for thousands of years—it pulls us out into deep water to hunt for food, explore new lands, and test ourselves in an environment quite indifferent to our fate. Water so often symbolizes life. The ocean has the vastness of God about it.

For years my wife and I were terrified of the prospect of pregnancy. It felt like the death knell of all our dreams. If we got pregnant, how would we travel to Japan? When would we get scuba certified and dive the great reefs of the world? Would we have to give up all those nights with a bottle of wine split between us, those early morning ascents of Colorado 14ers, our sleep in general?