faith unfaded

Habits can be good. Brushing your teeth before bedtime. Making your bed each morning. Sorting mail immediately as it comes in.

You can have good faith habits as well.  Reading your Bible each day. Praying before every meal. Church every Sunday.

But sometimes our faith habits turn into rituals that lose their meaning.

I love starting my morning off with a daily devotion. I feel like it’s a gift of encouragement delivered straight to my heart. It’s a way of letting God get to me first, before the world gets a word in edgewise.

Sometimes, though, it’s more like a morning checklist. Read devotion, get dressed, head downstairs. I no more received the message than if it had been written in invisible ink. 

Sometimes I’ll stop myself, reminding myself of the lessons I used with my third graders. Now tell me in your own words what you just read. 

I’ll have to go back and read slowly, concentrating on each word.

The same happens with prayer. There are heartfelt prayers and there are perfunctory ones. Before meals, at bedtime… some prayers are communication between our hearts and the Lord. Others are merely rituals—recitations, expected words, one more item on our faith to-do list.

Our hearts might be in the right place, but often our minds are distracted. I’ve sat through many sermons that were nourishing my soul when I’d remember I’d forgotten to add milk or bread to the grocery list. Ten minutes later I’m mentally gathering ingredients for next Thursday’s dinner when I realize I missed the pastor’s last two points. 

For me, I drift more when I’m doing well. The hunger isn’t as fierce; the need doesn’t feel as great. Prayer becomes expected; morning devotions checked off. I don’t waft away, but I’m not grabbing a life vest either.  

I packed my devotional for my last trip, as always. But I never pulled it out of the bag. I kept meaning to, but I didn’t. My emotions were out of control, and I was struggling with several things at once. Grief was only one layer of my seven-layer turmoil dip. 

By the time I arrived home, I unpacked and opened the devotional like a newborn baby receiving a bottle after his cries had been ignored for hours.

I was hungry.

Reading my devotional doesn’t magically erase the pain, and this time was no different. It didn’t bring back my mom. It didn’t bolster my bank account or give me new magazine assignments. But it did remind me that the Lord was in control and that He loved me. It gave me everything I needed to get through that day.

My prayers, my worship, my Bible reading… all good. But the real power lies not in the consistency, but in the hunger.