Infield Chatter

Tradition in baseball calls for players on the infield to talk constantly. Because there is time in between each pitch, and therefore time in between each play, ample opportunity exists for players to communicate to each other. The number of outs, anticipated plays, and defensive calls are spoken and repeated constantly to ensure that everyone is on the same page and everyone is in position to make the right play. Good teams do this.

Most important in my eyes, however, is talking to the pitcher. Mostly, the guy who is directly responsible for every play needs to hear that the other guys around him are there. In fatigue, struggle, adrenaline, and success, the steadying source of calm are the guys behind him letting him know that there's nobody they'd rather have on that mound right now than him.

As a high school umpire, I see all kinds of teams. Not many are good at this. At this point in the season, a lot of them have simply given up on chatter. The season has been long, and they are bored. They've won some, lost more, and they've found it's just not worth their time to be supportive for a sustained length. Silence is easier. More comfortable. Another type loves to talk, but it's talk to entertain. Mostly, the audience is themselves. Rather than helpful talk, it's sarcasm-laced, full of mockery, often in falsetto voices. Sometimes they mix in monkey or hyena screeches for fun. They are idiots, and they advertise it. Being funny is better than being good.

During my senior year of high school, our baseball team was bad. Special bad. One win all year bad. I pitched for that team, though I'm not sure you can call someone with my ERA a "pitcher." Still, what I remember from that year isn't the misery of twenty-something losses. Instead, it was the infield chatter, specifically from the Matts.

Matt Kain, our catcher, and Matt Nikkel, our 3rd baseman, were incessantly positive. Gregarious and funny off the field, they carried that personality between the chalk lines all year long. I was easily combustible on the mound, often allowing the frustration of a turn-style array of batters every inning to multiply my frustration. Whether the home runs I was giving up were the cause, or the error-plagued defense filled with 8th graders, the Matts kept me steady with encouragement and support.

It couldn't have been easy, staying positive in the midst of miserable innings inside of a disastrous season. They were, after all, losing as well. They didn't have control over the pitching; they were essentially waiting and hoping that I would do my job and find outs.

Or maybe it was easy. Maybe they simply made the decision to do it: Let's have fun playing baseball. Pouting isn't fun. Self-pity isn't fun. Effort is. Talking is. Supporting each other is. And so they did. As I said, I look back with a lot of joy on something that could have included anything but.

Umpiring now, I see that it's easy for teams to talk when they're ahead. It's second-nature to chat it up when you're winning. More fun for me to see, though, are the teams who communicate and cajole when they're down, when the game of inches is going a few feet in the other direction.

I realize now that infield chatter has gotten me through challenges throughout life. I've been blessed with a great infield, at my job, in my community, and in my family. I know the infielders I can count on, because they were talking me up even when I had my head buried in frustration. The score of the game didn't matter to them; they just knew playing at life was better for them and better for me when they were willing to chat between pitches.

Arrange your infield well. Find some Matts to play on your team. And learn to chat with them, whether you're winning or not. At the end of your season, you'll find the score didn't really matter much anyway.

When Offering a Crown

In 1st Samuel 8, Israel asks for a king: "There shall be a king over us, that we also may be like all the nations, and that our king may judge us and go out before us and fight our battles." They reject God as their king; He is not visible to them, and His kingship over them makes them unique from other nations when they would prefer to be lockstep with them.

They are warned by Samuel of the result of choosing a human king over God:

• He will take your sons (v. 11-12)
• He will take your daughters (v. 13)
• He will take the best of your property (v. 14)
• He will take off the top from what you have harvested. (v. 15)
• He will take your servants (v. 16)
• He will take your animals (v. 17)
• You will be his slaves (v. 17)

Yet they are adamant in this desire. They go through with it, knowing what the consequences will be. It's hard to believe that they didn't see Samuel as credible; no, they had all the facts and chose to give up their best in their desire to be subject to something tangible. They made the deal none of us in our right mind would make. Or would we?

I think there's a clear and relevant lesson here. 

If you want to serve something other than God, want it at the head of your life, with power over your emotions and your schedule and your energy, you've got to expect it to take your best. What do you trust and serve more than God? Where does your hope lie? Money? Your job? The fate of your college football team? A relationship? Your child's youth sports career?

it's going to cost you. And what it will cost is your best. It will cost something of your family, of your kids and your spouse and everyone who is a part of your household. It's going to require resources from you that you won't even question giving, whether those resources are fleeting funds, or the more precious commodity of time. You may be ready for it to bring you enjoyment, but are you ready to serve it? Do you know that you already are?

Serving God as king is going to heavily influence the best of your family and finances and time and property as well. But it will draw all of those heavenward, firmly planted in a solid foundation. It will bring true and lasting joy.

I've made a lot of things king in my life that weren't God. Coaching. Reputation. Tangible success. I could have made them acts of service under the kingship of God, but I'd be kidding myself if I said that was always the case. I gave them a crown and got out of them exactly what I thought I would. Yet it was never as good as I thought it would be. And there was always a steep price - usually the best I had to offer.

Choose your king wisely. 

Why I Hope My Students (and I) Don't Get It

I don't get it.

It's certainly not shocking to anyone that those are words I hear early and often as a teacher. Students are quick to say it - some after much work, some after little at all - and teachers are quick to respond to it. We jump to attempt to "fix" the situation in one way or another, drawing from our bag of tricks in an effort to make sure each and every one of our little darlings "gets it."

As a literature teacher, I hear "I don't get it," probably more often than anybody, except perhaps math teachers in their insistence to make letters actually mean numbers that actually represent abstract spots on a plane or a graph or a circle or trapezoid that gets spit out by one of those impossibly too large to use calculators. You see, in my classroom I introduce students to the great "I don't get it" multiplier: poetry. Its first cousin "symbolism" makes frequent appearances as well, and their neighborhood friend "irony" also demands student attention. Whether it be these entities or others (the language of the Dark Romantics, religious allusions, Transcendental philosophy, 19th Century British romantic rituals), frequent complaints of being lost in the dark while handing the subject material clang in cacophony from frustrated students.

Adults are not immune, of course. We complain about what we "don't get" all the time as well. The American political quagmire, macroeconomic theories, and the popularity of Justin Bieber confounds the masses. I, for one, shout epithets of frustration trying to understand anything mechanical, most educational reform efforts, and my youngest daughter.

I'm more convinced than ever, though, that if we don't get it, we are exactly where we need to be. Mortimer Adler writes about this in his classic text, How to Read a Book. In his common sense approach to those who quit or get frustrated by the books they don't immediately grasp, Adler offers this: "We can only learn from our betters." If a book has nothing new to offer you, it doesn't make sense to read it. Rather, we should seek texts that begin with what Adler calls an "initial inequality in understanding" and work hard to bridge that gap as much as possible. If we do in fact not "get it," by tackling it anyway we are well on our way to coming to an understanding that we never had before. And a steady diet of this leads to a life well-lived, or at the very least one well-improved.

This is true in relationships as well. How often have you wanted to shout, "I don't get why you ___________," to your spouse, your co-workers, your kids, or your friends? Rather than wallowing in the quicksand of frustration, perhaps what you don't get about them is something that deserves to be explored. Now you're learning about them. They may make no rational sense whatsoever in your mind; however, if you want to go deeper into the relationship, you've got to learn about that which you do not understand. And then you may just be forced to accept it, rather than find a way to fix it.

There are many aspects of my wife that remain a mystery to me. They are a mystery worth tireless exploration. I don't get all the symbolism in the book of Revelation, or why some of my students show little desire for success, or where my career is headed. I don't fully understand the paradox of free will and predestination or the purposes of some of Steinbeck's minor characters in his early works. Getting my iTunes account to work all the time also befuddles me and my best efforts. But I want to find out. Not getting it is exactly where I want to be.

Read a poem. Read a novel. Ask questions, especially about the people important to you. Go after that which is just out of your reach. Risk it. You may just find yourself reaching a little higher next time.

A Father's Identity

As I transition out of being a basketball coach, what I am perhaps most afraid of is the loss of that as an identity. When I think about how other people see me, I know that "Coach Dykstra" is a big part of the image they see. I've always liked that. It's what people feel comfortable talking to me about. I like being known for that work; people who know nothing else about me have known when they see me in the grocery store or at church or in a restaurant that I'm the guy on the sidelines. There are blessings and curses that come with that; regardless, it's skin in which I've become quite comfortable. As I lose that aspect of my occupation, at least for now, I feel I'm losing my identity, or that part of it any way. I'm unsure of what other people will see now when they see me, and in some ways I fear that by extension I will struggle with how to see myself.

This is immaturity, I know. I am not a job. My identity must be and is much more than that. But emotions are rarely logical, and throughout the entire process of wondering where this spring would take me, I've allowed myself to become intimidated by this reality. It displays a weakness in my character: I've let my identity come from how others see me.

Today I realize that to grow, to face this weakness, I need look no further than my father.

I understand now that I never saw Dad in relation to a job or occupation. And I never really thought about how other people saw him or defined his identity either. It didn't matter. He was (and is) my father. The end. I knew he worked, but what I saw there was a man providing for his family, not a man defined by how.

He was the one who played catch with me before his church softball games, or watched Walker, Texas Ranger with me on Saturday nights. He's the one who was always okay with a surprise attack from me, jumping on his unsuspecting back and attempting to wrestle him into submission (though I never could). He's the one who asked more from me than I wanted to give sometimes, and he's the one who showed me how to do a job even when you're tired. We worked together and played together, listening to Jim Zabel call Hawkeye football games on the radio during Saturday farm work and Paul Harvey on noontime drives. He loved me and cared for me and worked hard for me. And he does all of that now too. That is the identity he's spent a life creating.

He, like most other men, has undergone changes in "profession" throughout his lifetime. The type of farming and the size of farming. Factory work, construction work, maintenance work, wood work. The source of his paycheck has changed. It is common. But I am still a young man, unaccustomed to the realities of long-term living. I know better in my head, but my heart and my pride have not yet caught up. I'm scared to redefine what I do, because I've placed so much of my identity on that.

When I look at my father, though, I know this is foolishness. His identity is locked in elsewhere. His children see him as a Christian man, a hard worker, and their father. And that has been a rock-solid identity for over three decades.

I'm sure that part of my identity to my children in the past has been as a coach. After all, I haven't been home for Father's Day the last several years because I've been coaching. Today, instead, we went to church together, took a Father's Day picnic, and played on a playground. I read them books. They treated me to M&M's, peach rings, and grilling equipment.

Today, I am one step closer to having them see me in the same light that I see my father. I am one step closer to defining myself in that way as well. And that is an identity I am becoming more and more comfortable with every day.

Happy Father's Day, Dad. Thanks for a legacy of hard work, Christian living, and being my father.

Notes From Camp 2014: A Response to Good Enough

This is the 2nd post in a series connecting incidents from a recent "camp" experience with English teachers to daily relevance. The initial post can be found here.

In one session at English Camp, many of us were lamenting the fact that we have many students who write mechanically for a grade, rather than from the heart in order to communicate something real through their own voice. As we discussed ways to move them from half-hearted prose seeking their currency of increased GPA to actual writers, a wise question arose: What moved you?

And we stopped and considered - what had changed the game for many of us who knew how to play school well, get our beloved grades, and "meet assignment requirements"? What caused us to change into people who clearly cared about writing, attempted to do it for fun every once in a while, and knew the distinct difference between their own written voice and robotic, lifeless declarations?

What I noticed was that more than one person referenced an English teacher, usually when they were a senior, who simply told them they weren't good. Some were more polite than others; but essentially, the message was the same: good enough isn't good. And what you're attempting is good enough.

I can only imagine what my English teacher thought of me by the time I reached senior year. I had a high GPA, and I confused that with actual knowledge and skills. As I've said many times off the record about some of my own students, I had great confidence in skills I didn't possess. And I had no idea. She changed that. In biting, sometimes sarcastic, always supportive and intolerant comments, she pointed forward to where I could and should be, not where I was.

A consensus did not result in the session that these ideas were discussed. Some, like me, saw this approach as instrumental to their development. Others viewed it as dangerous. The object of this post is not to establish perfect English teaching practices.

What I am trying to say, though, is that somewhere in each of our lives, there's a need for a person who will challenge us. That's especially true in areas we have the most confidence in ourselves. The experience of realizing you're less than awesome at something is not fun, and I suspect that is why the common response to teachers, pastors, parents, co-workers, spouses, and friends who tell us that good enough is not good is anger. But we've got to push past that anger if we're going to move forward with whatever it is that we live to be good at in our lives.

I remembered the first time my English teacher knocked me on my proverbial butt, and I remember being on the offensive all year long in an attempt to get back up. By the end of the year when I finally was able to, where and how I stood had changed considerably. 

You can't face criticism all day about all things. But if you never face it, you better start wondering just how much you might be missing.

Lessons From (English) Camp 2014: Speak Up and Be Quiet

For the last couple of summers, I've put together a somewhat popular series of posts about lessons that transfer well from the basketball camps in which I've coached to life in general (see 2013 posts, 2012 posts, and 2011 posts).

Though I find myself out of coaching this summer, I am not out of camp lessons. This past weekend I attended ICTE's English Camp in Cedar Falls. Though this sounds ultra-geeky to my non-English teaching brethren (and perhaps it is), it was rewarding to gather with a group of teachers from around the state, including several old friends, and share stories and battle strategies. Also, I got to enjoy a beer and a burger over lunch with Jeff Finn, which all good camp experiences should include.

The "Lessons From Camp" series will continue, therefore, beginning with today's lesson: Speak up and Be Quiet.

The camp format allowed us to come in as a large group to begin the day, declare what topics we wanted to discuss throughout the camp, then develop a schedule based on those requests. The instructions were simple: if you want to talk about it, volunteer to lead a session on the topic and facilitate the discussion. Ask, and you shall receive, so to speak. And so we did.

There was much to receive, and a wealth of resources from which we were fed. I don't know if math teachers get charged up bantering about the quadratic formula and the intricacies of pi; but it's clear that if you put some language arts teachers in the same space and ask them to talk about literature and writing, the hours fly by.

Jeff led a session I particularly enjoyed which he succinctly titled "Home-Runs." We got in the room, and he told the group, "Look. I just want to hear one idea from everybody of something that really works for them. Tell me one home run you've hit in your classroom." And so we did. He wanted to hear good ideas, so he asked for them.

In life, it's not a lot more complicated than that. Speak up. Ask. Let people know what you want. Timidity, while perhaps peaceful, is not practical, not if you want something. At some point you've got to stand up, proclaim your desire, and see what happens.

I don't think many of us ask enough of the people in our lives, mostly out of an assumption that we are bothering them in some way. And we're dead wrong about that. Every time I ask a fellow English teacher about what they do, I hear great energy and enthusiasm. When I ask my parents or grandparents about past life experiences, adventures, and obstacles, they smile a little, tell a story, and then smile a lot. The same thing occurs when I ask my friend what he thinks of a Steinbeck novel or his South American travels, or when I ask my wife about her garden or her writing or her new batch of jam.

Ask for ideas, ask for stories, ask for advice. Most people can't wait to tell you. And in the listening you are enriched, whether it be from advice you'll follow, entertainment from a good story, or the joy you share with that individual while you're sharing space and time with them while they share something that matters to them.

After you ask, though, you've got to be disciplined enough to shut up and listen. As much as I was excited to talk about something that had gone well in my classroom during the "Home Run" session or add on to what others were saying by talking about my variation of their idea, I realized that wasn't what I was there for. There would be a time for me to share, but that time should be dwarfed considerably by the time allotted to be quiet.

Too many people ask questions, quietly hoping the answer they get leads them to get to talk about themselves. It doesn't work that way. If you ask and you're in a hurry to talk while listening, you'll probably just end up getting more of yourself in the process. You get enough of that already. You will not walk away better, and you will probably not see the magic of an energized peer crafting a careful response about something they care deeply about.

Speak up and ask questions. How's your baseball team doing? What's your kid learning in school? What cookies do you make? What book are you reading? How do you teach the Great Gatsby? How did you handle a major professional change? Then sit back and soak it in. Learn. Grow. Share.

You'll both be better for it.

My Resume is Bad, But it Doesn't Have to Stay That Way

Below is a sermon on Psalm 86 I created and delivered this month as part of my Biblical Exposition course. If it interests you:

When I speak at an English Teachers Conference, I usually begin with a little background information about myself to gain credibility with the audience. I want them to trust me with what I’m saying, so essentially I give them my resume: a couple of Masters Degrees, National Board Certification, experience in wide range of schools, settings, and classrooms, etc. That doesn’t necessarily qualify me to know what I’m talking about, but it certainly increases the odds in the minds of many in the audience.

This sermon, however, is not about effective writing strategies about literature. Instead the topic is prayer. The “resume” for my prayer life looks a little something like this:

Doesn’t necessarily induce confidence, does it? I have existed in my faith journey under a cloud of mystery regarding prayer. I have occasionally prayed big, but more often faltered in the size of my faith. I have had prayer strategies, only to let them die. I’ve read constantly about prayer, trying to get a handle on what’s real, what’s superstition, and why the God of the universe needs me to tell him what to do; and I’ve accumulated files and files of notes from these texts, all of them filling my head but not necessarily my heart. I have been humbled by answered prayer, but often lacked the will to ask. And I feel like a failure, every time I crawl back. Every time I sit at my keyboard and notice that the last date in my file is weeks, or months ago, my spirit drops. No, my resume, my best efforts, in no way make me an expert in this field.

However, we do have the book of Psalms, and David, to show us examples of prayer. It is there we look today to find direction and purpose for our prayers.

READ PSALM 86

For people like me who struggle with prayer, Psalm 86 provides an excellent starting place and model to follow. We can confidently pray as David prayed.

First, if we are to pray as David prayed, we must properly establish God’s position and our reason for praying to Him alone. David spends a lot of time in this prayer telling God who God is. This isn’t for God. God isn’t suffering an identity crisis and needs to David to snap him back to reality. No, David establishes who God is in his prayer to remind himself who He is praying to.

And who is he praying to? First of all, he is praying to the Sovereign God of the universe. He is praying to the One who is in control.

• “There is none like you among the gods, O Lord / nor are there any works like yours.”
• “All the nations you have made shall come / and worship before you, O Lord.”
• “For you are great and do wondrous things; / you alone are God.”

Obviously, you say. Of course. But it’s not so obvious. Or at least our actions don’t say that it is. For most of us, we daily attempt to wrestle control away from God, or at least assume the weight and responsibility for that control. We behave as if the well-being of the universe hangs in the balance of every choice, every word, every action, and every minute of our day. For most of us, we need this reminder.

Second, he is praying to a loving God. This Sovereign God over all, the one who spoke the stars and planets into being, who controls the wind and waves with a breath, the orchestrator of this beautiful redemptive history that we get to take part of, loves David, loves me, and loves you individually.

• “For you, O Lord, are good and forgiving, / abounding in steadfast love to all who call upon you.
• “In the day of my trouble I call upon you, / for you answer me.”
• “For great is your steadfast love toward me; / you have delivered my soul from the depths of Sheol.”
• “But you, O Lord, are a God merciful and gracious, / slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness.”

What is interesting about these beautiful exclamations of the love of God for David is the repetition of the word “for.” In this case, “for” means “because.” “For” is answering the question of “why?” Why am I praying? Why am I relying on God? Why am I on my knees first and acting 2nd? What’s the point? Isn’t this a hopeless situation? God isn’t asking these questions. David is. Again, this aspect of the prayer, while it brings great glory to God, also serves the purpose of getting David’s heart right. We often need that reminder as well.

Third, David spends time establishing God’s track record. This loving God has always been loving. He’s been steadfast in his care for David. David’s personal story and the storyline of the Bible is account after account after account of God’s faithfulness.

• “In the day of my trouble I call upon you, / for you answer me.”
• “For you are great and do wondrous things; / you alone are God.”

The Bible abounds with commands to retell events to future generations or to have celebrations or festivals traditions in order to remember God’s goodness over the course of all history. The Passover feast. “This do in remembrance of me.” God has answered David’s cries in the past. God has answered his people’s cries in the past. In David’s prayer, the identity of the one who is being prayed to is clear. And so is the worthiness of the act.

I encourage you, like David, to speak of who God is and what he’s done for you.

A second dominant aspect of this prayer is David establishing his own position in this relationship. Again, this is not necessarily for God. God didn’t forget David. God has the hairs on David’s head numbered. God knit together David. God knows the depths of the evils and sin in David’s heart, because he sent his son to die and put the weight of those sins on him. Once again, it is David who needs reminded of where he stands.

And where does David stand in the presence of this Sovereign, loving, faithful God? Lowly and desperate. Helpless. In need of what only God can provide.

• “for I am poor and needy.” (v. 1)
• “for to you do I cry all the day.” (v. 3)
• “for to you, O Lord, do I lift up my soul.” (4)
• “In the day of my trouble I call upon you. . .” (7)
• “O God, insolent men have risen up against me; / a band of ruthless men seeks my life, / and they do not set you before them.”

This is a perpetual state. David needs God. He is the crier. David, this great slayer of Goliath, this powerful king, this man after God’s own heart, is a beggar. He is the petitioner. He is the one lacking, the one who cannot overcome on his own. And so are you and I.

When my girls are scared of something, I ask them this question, “Whose job is it to protect you?” It’s mine. When students have a problem or a question, I want them to come to me. I have had former players come to me seeking advice about a range of issues. When something is wrong, people come to me. I fix it. Recognizing my own helplessness does not come naturally to me. It feels weak. It flies against the spirit of success, of overcoming, of the American Dream. I need desperately to put myself in this place through prayer; because if I don’t, I fear that I will continue to delude myself into false confidence that I surely have no right to. And I suspect some of you are in the exact same boat.

Paul Miller, in his book The Praying Life, has this to say: “If you are not praying, then you are quietly confident that time, money, and talent are all you need in life.” What do your prayers, or lack thereof, say about what you believe about yourself and your life?

If we are to pray as David prayed, we must come face to face with the truth that many of us try to ignore: God is God, and we are not.

Now we can get to “asking for stuff.” It’s a subject that’s often puzzled me. What is “prayer-worthy”? Should I pray for success in my career? Should I pray for health? Should I pray for comfort or protection? Should I pray for this person to like me, or that person to notice me? Shouldn’t I just say, “Thy will be done” and be over with it?

Here’s what David does: his requests center on furthering what he’s already established in this prayer: God is God.

First, David makes a request that shows God has the power, not David:

• “Incline your ear, O LORD, and answer me”
• “Preserve my life. . . / save your servant, who trusts in you - you are my God.
• “be gracious to me, O Lord”

It can be easy to read this and on first glance see David as some sort of petulant child demanding attention. Listen to me! Answer me! Be good to me! It’s like mornings at the Dykstra household with our children. But that’s what it’s supposed to look like - children coming to their Father persistently.

“Which one of you, if his son asks him for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a serpent? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him!” (Matthew 7:7-11)

David also comes to God asking for what only he can provide. David’s requests show that God alone is the source of all good things.

• He is the source of all joy
• “Gladden the soul of your servant” (v. 4)
• He is the source of all wisdom
• “Teach me your way, O LORD / that I may walk in your truth” (v. 11)
• He is the source of real strength
• “Turn to me and be gracious to me; give your strength to your servant” (v. 16)

David recognizes that if he wants joy, wisdom, and strength (and he should), there is only one place to get them. He doesn't request possessions or situations or relationships that he thinks will bring these to him; he goes straight to the source.

Finally, David makes a request that ultimately brings glory to God:

• “Show me a sign of your favor / that those who hate me may see and be put to shame /  because you, LORD, have helped me and comforted me.”

• “Teach me your way, O LORD, / that I may walk in your truth / unite my heart to fear your name. I give thanks to you, O Lord my God, with my whole heart, / and I will glorify your name forever.”

David’s end game is not personal glory, personal comfort, or personal success. He wants what he wants so that he can walk more faithfully, view God with more awe and respect, and walk with a heart full of gratitude and praise. Whatever you ask of God, if you are asking for these reasons, your prayer is God-honoring and heart-changing. You are in a position to receive answered prayer.

Are you unsure of how to pray? Of what to pray? Of why to pray? Then follow David’s example. This week, one day at a time, speak to God of how good and mighty and powerful He is. Speak of what he’s done for you. Describe your needs. Put your circumstances in perspective. Exalt God. Fill your prayer with those thoughts, and your heart will be filled with them as well.

A favorite author of mine, Oswald Chambers, wrote this in the early 20th Century about prayer:

Prayer is the battle, and it makes no difference where you are. However God may engineer your circumstances, your duty is to pray. . . Wherever God has placed you and whatever your circumstances, you should pray, continually offering up prayers to Him. . . Yet we refuse to pray unless it thrills or excites us, which is the most intense form of spiritual selfishness.

There is nothing thrilling about a laboring person’s work, but it is the laboring person who makes the ideas of the genius possible. And it is the laboring saint who makes the ideas of his Master possible. When you labor at prayer, from God’s perspective there are always results.

Perhaps your prayer resume looks a lot like mine. That’s okay. It’s just not okay for your resume to end there. The battle that Chambers writes about must continue. When we are most disappointed with ourselves and our prayer, we are most ready to humble ourselves as David did. Pray. Use David’s example. There will be results.