Help me to see my real needs, which are concealed from me.

 When my son Jared was a baby, he went to sleep easily and happily. The only exception was when he was extremely tired. Past a certain point, tiredness shifted to fussiness and restlessness. What he most needed – rest – became the last thing he wanted. His nighttime routine of bath, snack, and book brought frustration rather than peace. He wanted something else, but couldn’t say what that something else might be.

On those nights, I’d take him outside for a walk around the barn. He’d say goodnight to the horses and look in on the roosting chickens. We’d walk down the gravel drive to see what the road looked like at night and we’d look at the lights of the house across the way. Sometimes, he’d pick up the tiny striped acorns of the pin oaks that lined the drive. Then I’d pick him up and take him home, fast asleep before I put him in his crib. After a good night’s sleep, Jared was himself again. Happy.

If I go past a certain point, my spiritual, physical, and emotional tiredness bring frustration and discontent. I refuse things and activities that restore me, and I can’t see anything new that might help. So I go in one direction and then another, trying to grasp the needs that hold me captive. But I can’t see them and I can’t think of where else to look. I just want to give up and cry. That’s when God holds my hand and takes me for a walk. I see my world by starlight and see others resting peacefully. Stones crunch beneath my feet and a neighbor’s lights illuminate where I stand. The seeds of mighty trees surround me, and the mystery of the world welcomes me. Most of the time, I’m at rest before I make it back home, trusting the Spirit to carry me. When I wake up, the world is new and so am I.

I’d better be careful what I pray for: If God shows me what I really need, I’ll know what is necessary and what isn’t. I won’t exhaust myself chasing things that cannot sustain life. A focus on real needs rather than popular wants won’t bring social status or vast wealth. But does bring light in darkness, companionship along the way, a vision of new life in a nutshell, and the world made new every day.

Whence cometh my help? From God alone who knows my needs.

Thou alone knowest what are my true needs.

 One of my friends has a home organization program on her computer. It helps keep bills in order, reminds her of special dates, and has several cleaning schedules designed to keep her home in good shape. The feature she likes best is the grocery list – just enter the things in your cupboard and fridge and it creates a permanent list. Rather than creating a new list every week, she just checks the items on the list as she uses them. No more wondering about what’s in the cupboard, no more ending up with five boxes of pasta and no tortillas. There’s even a section for special items, the once-a-year or just-giving-it-a-try oddities that come as cupboard guests but don’t stay long. Grocery shopping without the guesswork, requiring less time and thought while guaranteeing a well stocked pantry.

There are grocery program equivalents for faith life, listing the usual staples: Bible reading, prayer, daily devotional exercises, and directions for seasonal practices. They provide a solid structure, requiring only adherence to the proscribed schedule. When the Bible book has been read, put a check on the list and pick up another. During Lent, take the Alleluias out of the liturgy. History, theology, spiritual practice, and Bible studies of good quality available in a convenient list. Prayerfully eaten, they help foster and sustain faith.

The lists we create for ourselves and others are well-meaning conjectures, things that have worked in times and for peoples past. These are effective only with the opposite approach than that of the grocery program: they are a doorway to more time and intention, not a convenience that excuses me from them. And the deepest truth: they require God’s living presence. While I may know what’s missing from my cupboards, I can’t see what’s missing in my heart and soul. God alone has that vision. If I don’t realize this, I could spend my life shopping for things that will never nourish.

Oh Lord, I know not what to ask of thee.

      One life’s ironies: the times when I need God’s help and guidance most are when I don’t know how to ask for them. “I know not what to ask” doesn’t mean I have no specific outcome in mind: it’s the recognition that another outcome may very well be holier than the one I’m requesting.

O Lord, I know not what to ask of thee. Thou alone knowest what are my true needs. Thou lovest me more than I myself know how to love. Help me to see my real needs which are concealed from me. I dare not ask either a cross or consolation. I can only wait on thee. My heart is open to thee. Visit and help me, for thy great mercy’s sake. Strike me and heal me, cast me down and raise me up. I worship in silence thy holy will and thine inscrutable ways. I offer myself as a sacrifice to thee. I put all my trust in thee. I have no other desire than to fulfil thy will. Teach me how to pray. Pray thou thyself in me.   Amen. (From A Manual of Eastern Orthodox Prayers, Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1991, p.24)

About the Author of this prayer:

Metropolitan Philaret was the son of a Russian Orthodox priest who became a priest himself. He taught at St. Petersburg Theological Academy, and eventually became the Metropolitan of Moscow – a ranking somewhere between archbishop and patriarch. Not quite on par with the pope, but awfully close. He worked for offering scripture and other teachings in Russian so more people could read them. He wrote a catechism that is still in use. I suspect Philaret was a very busy man who had his share of difficulties.