Best 6082 quotes in «prayer quotes» category

His real name is A.J., but he is known in Heaven as Armor because of how resilient he is in his faith and how persistent he is with his prayers.

History is a test of faith, and the correct response to that test is persistent prayer.

Holiness grants us access to God's blessings, for without it,ACCESS DENIED!!!

Hold fast to your faith. Keep your hope in the Lord. Embrace the love of God.

Hope is a gracious expectation.

Hope is the assurance of positive expectations.

Hope, strive and try to be more like Christ until the day we will see Him. Let Him find you faithfully and in obedient serving Him. He is coming quicker than people think.

Hope Thrives When Prayer Strives.

How can you be so accepting? How is it that you are not screaming with frustration?" "I've been spending more time in prayer. I am learning that obedience to God means that you do not put your eyes on your longings, but instead, you simply place one foot ahead of the other into the space that the Lord opens. Tired, wounded, overwhelmed. It does not matter. You merely keep moving where God directs and stop focusing on what you wish you had. It's teaching me patience.

How can you keep your mind from wandering when you pray? Remember what you are doing: talking to God. If you had the opportunity to talk with the president, I doubt if your mind would wander. [We] have the privilege of talking to someone far greater: the King of kings!

How could we not believe the Lord would guide us? How could we not have faith? For the foundation had been laid in prayer and sorrow. Since that fearful night, Dad has responded with the almost impossible work of belief. He had burned with repentence as though his own hand had fired the gun. He had laid up prayer as if with a trowel.

How do I pray? Not in any organized form, really; I go to temples sometimes with my family, but they leave me cold. I think of prayer as something intensely personal, a way of reaching my hands out towards my maker. I recite some mantras my parents taught me as a child; there is something reassuring about those ancient words, hallowed by use and repetition over thousands of years.

How do we make sense out of life when ‘lost’ is actually a critical part of the path to our destination? Get Will to be released 2021.

How long, O God, will we go on with a mock Christianity that takes the tribalism of our world for granted? How long, O God, will we be satisfied with the way things are? How long, O God, will we try to "make some difference in the world" while leaving the basic patterns of the world unaffected? How long, O God will we take consolation in numbers, buildings, and structures, when millions of your children are dying? How long, O Sovereign Lord, will we remain blind to the lessons of history?

How someone treats me (kind or cruel), is only between them and God, And my reaction the experience is only between myself and God. Put another way, the giving of a gift is between the giver and God. The receiving of a gift is between the receiver and God. So when giving a gift... truly let it go with no concern of how or even if it is used, the work was accomplished in the moment of giving.

Human attitude is to keep God in the prison to pray for their needs

Human nature inclines us to have recourse to petition for the purpose of obtaining from another, especially from a person of higher rank, what we hope to receive from him. So prayer is recommended to men, that by it they may obtain from God what they hope to secure from Him. But the reason why prayer is necessary for obtaining something from a man is not the same as the reason for its necessity when there is question of obtaining a favor from God. Prayer is addressed to man, first, to lay bare the desire and the need of the petitioner, and secondly, to incline the mind of him to whom the prayer is addressed to grant the petition. These purposes have no place in the prayer that is sent up to God. When we pray we do not intend to manifest our needs or desires to God, for He knows all things. The Psalmist says to God: "Lord, all my desire is before Thee" and in the Gospel we are told: "Your Father knoweth that you have need of all these things." Again, the will of God is not influenced by human words to will what He had previously not willed. For, as we read in Numbers 23:19, "God is not a man, that He should lie, nor as the son of man, that He should be changed"; nor is God moved to repentance, as we are assured in 1 Kings 15:29. Prayer, then, for obtaining something from God, is necessary for man on account of the very one who prays, that he may reflect on his shortcomings and may turn his mind to desiring fervently and piously what he hopes to gain by his petition. In this way he is rendered fit to receive the favor.

Hunter’s entire body writhed and squirmed. The side of his head was partly gone. A creature, like some monstrous melding of insect and eel, protruded from Hunter’s shoulder and as they stood there rooted in horror it took a vicious bite of Hunter’s flesh. Taylor was suddenly gone. Dekka’s face was grim, her eyes wet. “I tried . . . ,” Hunter said. He held up his hands, mimicked pressing them against his head. “It didn’t work.” “I can do it,” Sam said softly. “I’m scared,” Hunter said. “I know.” “It’s ’cause I killed Harry. God has to punish me. I tried to be good but I’m bad.” “No, Hunter,” Sam said gently. “You paid your dues. You fed the kids. You’re a good guy.” “I’m a good hunter.” “The best.” “I don’t know what’s happening. What’s happening, Sam?” “It’s just the FAYZ, Hunter,” Sam said. “Can the angels find me here so I can go to heaven?” Sam didn’t answer. It was Dekka who spoke. “Do you still remember any prayers, Hunter?” The insectlike creature was almost completely emerged from Hunter’s shoulder. Legs were becoming visible. It had wings folded against its body. It looked like a gigantic ant, or wasp, but silver and brass and covered with a sheen of slime. It was emerging like a chicken breaking out of an egg. Being born. And as the creature was born, it fed on Hunter’s numbed body. Jerky movements beneath Hunter’s shirt testified to more of the larvae emerging. “Do you remember ‘now I lay me down to sleep’?” Dekka asked. “Now I lay me down to sleep,” Hunter said. “I pray the Lord my soul to keep.” Sam raised his hands, palms out. “If I should die—” Twin beams of light hit Hunter’s chest and face. His shirt caught fire. Flesh melted. He was dead before he could feel anything. Sam played the light up and down Hunter’s body. The smell was sickening. Jack wanted to look away, but how could he? Sudden darkness as Sam terminated the light. Sam lowered his hands to his side. They stood there in the darkness. Jack breathed through his mouth, trying not to smell the burned flesh. Then they heard a sound. Many sounds. Sam raised his hands and pale light glowed. Hunter was all but gone. The things that had been inside him were still there.

Humility arises as you acknowledge and embrace your need for and your dependency on God.

I also learned that prayer is not as much about getting God to act in certain ways as it is about getting to the heart of God and getting my heart to reflect His heart.

I am blessed with 365 days of thanksgiving and answered prayer.

I am a new creation in the Christ Jesus. Amen!

I am a woman of prayer.

I am empowered by every problem to seek the power of God.

I am filled time and again with a heart-aching wonder when I think of the fire and frost of memories of the everlastingness of love the solace of family and the power of prayer.

I am still searching for a popular prayer which doesn’t seek materialistic or other benefits from God and is a simple prayer which simply expresses gratitude in Him and believes what He does will be for our best…

I am like a deep, still mountain lake. The surface is a mirror that reflects the sky above. I await in tranquility for the breath of God to move across me.

I am not, anymore, a Christian, but I am lifted and opened by any space with prayer inside it. I didn’t know why I was going, today, to stand in the long cool darkness of St. John of the Divine, but my body knew, as bodies do, what it wanted. I entered the oddly small door of the huge space, and walked without hesitating to the altar I hadn’t consciously remembered, a national memorial for those who died of AIDS, marked by banners and placards. My heart melted, all at once, and I understood why I was there. Because the black current the masseuse had touched wanted, needed, to keep flowing. I’d needed to know I could go on, but I’d also been needing to collapse. Which is what I did, some timeless tear span of minutes sitting on the naked gray stone. A woman gave me the kind of paper napkins you get with an ice cream cone. It seemed to me the most genuine of gifts, made to a stranger: the recognition of how grief moves in the body, leaving us unable to breathe, helpless, except for each other.

I am sitting here, you are sitting there. Say even that you are sitting across the kitchen table from me right now. Our eyes meet; a consciousness snaps back and forth. What we know, at least for starters, is: here we- so incontrovertibly- are. This is our life, these are our lighted seasons, and then we die. In the meantime, in between time, we can see. The scales are fallen from our eyes, the cataracts are cut away, and we can work at making sense of the color-patches we see in an effort to discover where we so incontrovertibly are. I am as passionately interested in where I am as is a lone sailor sans sextant in a ketch on an open ocean. I have at the moment a situation which allows me to devote considerable hunks of time to seeing what I can see, and trying to piece it together. I’ve learned the name of some color-patches, but not the meanings. I’ve read books; I’ve gathered statistics feverishly: the average temperature of our planet is 57 degrees F…The average size of all living animals, including man, is almost that of a housefly. The earth is mostly granite, which is mostly oxygen…In these Appalachians we have found a coal bed with 120 seams, meaning 120 forests that just happened to fall into water…I would like to see it all, to understand it, but I must start somewhere, so I try to deal with the giant water bug in Tinker Creek and the flight of three hundred redwings from an Osage orange and let those who dare worry about the birthrate and population explosion among solar systems. So I think about the valley. And it occurs to me more and more that everything I have seen is wholly gratuitous. The giant water bug’s predations, the frog’s croak, the tree with the lights in it are not in any real sense necessary per se to the world or its creator. Nor am I. The creation in the first place, being itself, is the only necessity for which I would die, and I shall. The point about that being, as I know it here and see it, is that as I think about it, it accumulates in my mind as an extravagance of minutiae. The sheer fringe and network of detail assumes primary importance. That there are so many details seems to be the most important and visible fact about creation. If you can’t see the forest for the trees, then look at the trees; when you’ve looked at enough trees, you’ve seen a forest, you’ve got it. If the world is gratuitous, then the fringe of a goldfish’s fin is a million times more so. The first question- the one crucial one- of the creation of the universe and the existence of something as a sign and an affront to nothing is a blank one… The old Kabbalistic phrase is “the Mystery of the Splintering of the Vessels.” The words refer to the shrinking or imprisonment of essences within the various husk-covered forms of emanation or time. The Vessels splintered and solar systems spun; ciliated rotifers whirled in still water, and newts laid tracks in the silt-bottomed creek. Not only did the Vessels splinter; they splintered exceeding fine. Intricacy then is the subject, the intricacy of the created world.

I am the prayer.

I am unable to believe in a God susceptible to prayer. I simply haven't the nerve to imagine a being, a force, a cause which keeps the planets revolving in their orbits, and then suddenly stops in order to give me a bicycle with three speeds.

I am well pleased with Thy will, whatever it is, or should be in all respects, and if Thou bidst me decide for myself in any affair, I would choose to refer all to Thee, for Thou art infinitely wise and cannot do amiss, as I am in danger of doing. I rejoice to think that all things are at Thy disposal, and it delights me to leave them there. Then prayer turns wholly into praise, and all I can do is to adore and bless Thee.

I become blessed through you when I follow you and your Son, in the foot steps you both left for me to follow. You give me life, happiness, joy satisfaction, contentment, love and abundance when I'm at the heel of your feet but when I sin, I feel wretched, worn down, punished, sad, empty and alone. In my heart I know what to do but I choose not to and I'm sorry.

I believe a boy can have anything in life that he wants once he starts working for it. The main thing is not to give up. It makes no difference how tough things get, just bow your back, keep working, and put your heart and soul into it. As you go along your way, live a good clean life, don't hurt anyone or anything, and always be honest. It doesn't hurt to pray a little, too. If you do all those things-someday you'll have your pony and gun. You'll get help when you least expect it.

- I believe in unlimited discovery and achievement. - I believe that dreams can become reality. - I believe in true love. - I believe in kindness and intelligence. - I trust life, regardless.

I believe we should pray that God will take possession of our lives totally and completely. We should pray that we will be emptied of self— self-love, self-will, self-ambition—and be placed completely at His disposal.

I am the most important person to me. I am the most important person in the entire universe to me. I am the centre of my own universe.

I began praying for the health and safety of my boys before each one was born. Once a week for two years prior to Joseph’s death, I also gathered with other moms to pray for my sons and their schools, and I specifically asked God to protect the health and safety of Joseph, Curt, and Wyatt. My prayers were not answered the way I had hoped. Despite countless prayers for Joseph to be safe, God said no. His plan remains a mystery. I have had to accept that mystery and trust Him in the dark.

I bow down on my knees. And prayed; God help me! This was the moment of grace.

I can view prayer as a way of asking a timeless God to intervene more directly in our time-bound life on earth. (Indeed, I do so all the time, praying for the sick, for the victims of tragedy, for the safety of the persecuted church.)

I carry my burdens to the Lord. He lightens my shoulders.

I climb the mountain, and for a moment leave the world far below, I need, we all need, those moments, that we might recharge the Spiritual battery which the world would so eagerly drain to the point of ruin.

I do believe in the power of prayer. I do. And I believe in the power of human kindness.

I delight to come to my bearings,—not walk in procession with pomp and parade, in a conspicuous place, but to walk even with the Builder of the universe, if I may,—not to live in this restless, nervous, bustling, trivial Nineteenth Century, but stand or sit thoughtfully while it goes by. What are men celebrating? They are all on a committee of arrangements, and hourly expect a speech from somebody. God is only the president of the day, and Webster is his orator. I love to weigh, to settle, to gravitate toward that which most strongly and rightfully attracts me;—not hang by the beam of the scale and try to weigh less,—not suppose a case, but take the case that is

I cried to the Lord. He heard my tears of prayer, from His holy hill.

I could watch him do this until morning — never asking questions and never interrupting his work. I worship quietly — his intense focus and attention to detail and then, out of no where, I realize the inconvenient, inappropriate truth: ‘I love this man… and it has swallowed me.

I couldn’t stop crying because it was so intimate, in that way I always thought being physical with him would feel. If someone had walked in they might have thought Henry was barely touching me. I knew the truth of it. He was laying me open and bare to him and to God. There wasn’t a more intimate act. I would never recover from this.

I’d like to share with you a parable: the parable of Bob the Angel. A girl was walking down a darkly lit city street late at night. A man jumped out from the shadows and attacked her, suddenly she was suffocating and disoriented as hands clasped around her neck and the force of his attack started to push her down. She tried to yell as she struggled to pull his arms from her neck while she crumpled backwards to the ground, “God . . . help me!” The next thing she remembers—just as the fear consumed her, and right as she disappeared into the misery and despair of helplessness—was a loud crash and an explosion of glass which rained down upon her and her attacker. The assailant’s lifeless body was suspended above her, held from collapsing on her by an unknown force, and then pulled away from hovering over her and dropped onto the pavement beside her. She opened her eyes in the faint shadowy light, to see black matted hair and a long, black beard framing the eyes of a man. The smell of alcohol on his breath would have knocked her out if the adrenaline was not still trilling through her veins. There he stood, God’s angel, off-kilter and drunk, with a broken whiskey bottle in his hand. “You probably shouldn’t be walking through here this late at night,” was all he said as he turned away. “Wait! What’s your name?” she asked, still stunned half sitting up on the ground. All she heard as he walked away was his trailing voice calling, “Bob’s as good as any. . . .” An angel is a messenger, and sometimes we only want letters sent in white envelopes with beautiful gold print, when sometimes a simple “no” on the back of a gum wrapper is what we are offered. Every postcard from heaven does not come with a picture of the sunset there, nor should it. If it is an answer we want, an answer we will get. As far as pretty postcards, there are many others willing to send us that. If not harps and gold-tipped wings, what then is the mark of an angel? An answer which pierces your soul, and which inspires a question that invites you to look outside of yourself and up to God. God is very objective; He wants to make us think, to engage the faculties we have been given, and to learn from the messengers he sends us. He wants us in the ark before the flood; he could come himself—or send a Noah—but most of the time he sends Bob. Bob is in you, Bob is in me, Bob is in the emotionalized, sarcastic, mocking, patronizing, proud or foolish person which points out meaningful things to us in the worst possible moments, or in the worst possible way.

I don’t believe in prayer, but I do believe in magic, and I want to believe in miracles.

I don't know whether I believe in God or not. I think, really, I'm some kind of a Buddhist. But the essential thing is to put oneself in a frame of mind which is close to that of prayer.