In my sorting through old papers, I came across this reflection I had written 20 years ago randomly tucked in a folder of bits and peices:

“Prayer has always been a mystery to me. My first memories of prayer (other than Grace said before meals) are my early grade school prayers of confession which I deemed necessary for assurance of salvation. At eight, I was taught such theological truths as eternal security and salvation by grace alone. Although relieved of my burden of laborious confessions, I began to wonder what the point of it all was.
For awhile, it was enough to know that Jesus prayed and therefore so should I. But soon I began to wonder anew, why did he bother? Some mystical soul pointed out to me that the book of Revelations describes the prayers of the saints as incense offered to God, as something which delights and pleases him. That’s a beautiful thought to me but I don’t really understand it.
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