Begin the day with prayer.

I remember when I first came to Christ.

I was 14... full of guilt and shame from my wretchedness.

Back in those days Jesus was my everything.

I remember being so pumped about God, I would tell anyone who would listen to me waffle about how they could know Jesus too.


Funny looking back and thinking about how we used to be.

So much zeal, such limited knowledge about Christ.



But I knew He'd saved me.


That He'd reached down, opened my sinful eyes and said...

"Lizzie, come Home".


To be saved and truly know it is freedom indeed.

I'm up to another chapter in E.M Bounds on Prayer and am being brutally convicted each page that I read.


He touches on men of the faith who spent hours each morning talking to God.


Pleading with Him for souls.

Pleading with Him to purge those from within the camp.



I WANT TO BE LIKE THIS.



But the flesh is weak.


I sat on the tram home from school this evening and as I read this chapter I couldn't help but get teary thinking about the fact we cannot do this without His help.


We can't pray unless He enables us to be prayerful.

We're just so hopeless without His help.


The more He shows me this, the more I'm drawn to my knees to seek His face.



I pray He will reveal more and more to us how sinful we truly are and how much we need to spend time on our faces before Him.



Otherwise what's the point of it all?



Religious service?



God takes no delight in sacrifices.

He just wants us.


That's the 'real thing'.



A real and living relationship with the True and Living God.



That's what I want.