One day I had an intense prayer walk. In the image of a George Herbert poem, I felt that I was thundering at heaven. As I thought about it later, I realized that intercessory prayer has shifted as I have gotten older. Sometimes the experience is like stumbling into a rip tide of prayer rather than swimming out forcefully of my own will. My concept of a “prayer warrior” had always been of someone deeply disciplined, but I suddenly imagined a different variety of prayer warrior more like a Viking beserker!
Prayer Warrior The "Prayer Warrior" I pictured in my mind Was disciplined and grim, and every day Took up her list of names, laid down her time, And called God's power in some mysterious way. But could there be surrendered souls who drift Through normal life until they hit a storm Of God's compassion; then within that rift They thunder back at heaven, loud and warm. Electrified, within his breath they dance And will not leave the holy fray, berserk, Each lightning flash they form into a lance And launch to Him, who laughs, reshapes His work. A Viking crone I'll sit beside some fire And smile, rememb'ring spirit storms' mad pyre.