It is actually my bedroom closet, which serves me perfectly well for the hanging of my clothes and a house for my shoes, but it has the ability to transform. I guess that it would be a dinner closet if I served food in it.
There is a history of “business” getting done in the prayer closet. It is not that I don’t pray every day, but sometimes we have to get “business” done. This is the searching; letting the Spirit open the gates where the wild animals live. I can’t give myself any excuses or benefits of the doubt in there. I am shown the root of my actions, patterns, fears. Roots can go deep.
This is the protocol. I shut the lights off before I get in (the switch is on the outside). Then I just sit down with my back to the door, in the dark. Then I wait.
I have learned about confession and forgiveness in this closet. I have experienced freedom from things that have shackled me, possibly for most of my life. I have fought for my beliefs. When I had no legs to stand on, my feet were found, standing on the Rock. In there, I have told God that I have no idea how to be a wife so many times, that I cannot count them. All these things have happened in my prayer closet.
The good thing about sitting in the closet, in the dark, with the door closed, is you will be alone. People don’t want to sit in any closet with you. They do not look for you there; and, all of those clothes buffer sound. You can speak as candidly and as loud as you want, who is going to stop you in your closet?
This morning I woke up at about 3:15. This seems to be a norm these days. It is the end of my first round of sleep. This morning it was helped by a sick dog. I was reading some blogs yesterday that talked about surrender and trust. So, I told God that I trust Him. I told Him that I surrender all of the crazy things that role through your mind at 3am.
It is funny that all day I can think, “I can”, but from about 3-4:30am, I am plagued with, “I can’t”. It makes for some good prayer time as I look at the ceiling, and then the right wall, and then the left wall, and then the ceiling.
This morning, while lying there, I knew that I was headed for the closet this morning. I won’t say that God didn’t believe that I trust Him, but I was having trouble believing it myself. That surprised me. I knew that I had business to be done.
After my husband went to work, I went in. There I sat. Waiting, and pouring every emotion out through my eyes. I always take a box of tissues. It is strangely cathartic.
Once again, I was taught a thing or two. Once again, I had to forgive and confess. Once again, I sat at the foot of the cross and saw what is real. I love the time in the closet.
Where is your “prayer closet”?