Moving Mountains

, Jesus wouldn’t have urged us to remain in him unless it was likely we would wander out from him. He never urged us to flap our arms and fly like a bird, for the simple reason that it cannot happen. It can’t be done. So if he urged us to remain in him, he did so because he knew we might not. Probably would not.

know who he is and who we are. We know what is going on in the world. We understand the invasion, and that we are partners with God invoking the kingdom. We know prayer is not begging God, nor is it merely zap. So, let us kill this religious deception with an axe and bury it forever. It was not given to us by Jesus.

We really thought this life was simply about getting a nice little situation going for ourselves and living out the length of our days in happiness. I’m sorry to take that from you, but you and I shall soon be inheriting kingdoms, and we are almost illiterate when it comes to ruling. So God must prepare us to reign. How does he do this? In exactly the same way he grows us up—he puts us in situations that require us to pray and to learn how to use the authority that has been given to us. How else could it possibly happen?

You are not the orphaned child, sitting out in the hall hoping your busy Father will see one of the notes you have pushed under his door; you are not a homeless beggar, standing on the corner hoping God will pass by and hand you a couple of bucks; you are not a refugee, standing in line at the embassy, hoping the Ambassador will hear your request. Not even a faithful servant, humbly trying to do your best.
You are a son or daughter of the living God, a friend and ally, wielding his authority to get things done. And by the way—your eternal destiny is to reign:
In my vision at night I looked, and there before me was one like a son of man, coming with the clouds of heaven. He approached the Ancient of Days and was led into his presence. He was given authority, glory and sovereign power; all peoples, nations and men of every language worshiped him. His dominion is an everlasting dominion that will not pass away, and his kingdom is one that will never be destroyed . . .
But the saints of the Most High will receive the kingdom and will possess it forever—yes, for ever and ever. (Dan. 7:13–14, 18)

Do people make meaningful choices? Indeed they do. The Scriptures are full of provocations to choose, like when Joshua said to the people of Israel, “Choose for yourselves this day whom you will serve, whether the gods your forefathers served beyond the River, or the gods of the Amorites, in whose land you are living.

It is human nature to look at the problem before us, the crisis that has caused us to pray. But the problem is exactly the thing we should not be looking at.

are my son—everything I have is yours. Plunder as you will.”
This is how sons get to live; this is how a father feels toward his sons.

Just as we have to be careful to keep in mind exactly who it is we are praying to, what our images of God actually are, it is equally important to keep clear who we are in this process. Who are you to God? What is your relationship to the One to whom you pray? How do you conceive of it? Set aside your doctrine for a moment—what is your heart’s settled assurance on the matter?

this was the very lesson Jesus was trying to get across to his disciples—drive home with visual impact—when he fed the five thousand with a few loaves and fishes. His resources are unlimited.

E. M. Bounds, that legendary nineteenth-century prophet of prayer, wrote, “The entire man must pray. The whole man—life, heart, temper, mind, are in it . . . it takes a whole heart to do effectual praying.”2 The whole man was involved in those prayers of mine in the garage. They were my Cry of the Heart.