This is Part 4 in a continuing and sporadically written series of Blog post about the Lord's Prayer in my life. Notwithstanding the fact that Rick Warren has now decided to write a book about the Lord's Prayer - though he probably stole all his best ideas from me (okay...probably not), I shall continue this intermittent series until it is finished.
"Thy Kingdom come..."
We left England in the summer of 1970. I would not return for six more years. My last day of school, my last day of steak and kidney pie and treacle in the dining hall, was the last time I heard the Lord's Prayer for a very long time.
A couple of years later, I walked the aisle at the First Baptist Church of Ozona, Texas. Looking back, I probably did it for all the wrong reasons. It was an emotional response to the fear of going to hell for all eternity (coupled with the desire to gain the attention of certain family members), rather than a response to the great love and compassion of God through Jesus Christ. But I walked. No one said the Lord's Prayer there, but I recognize that tiny but powerful seeds were planted every day at lunch two years before - seeds that would grow over time, bearing fruit years later.
As a kid, "Thy Kingdom come..." could only be some mystical, magical time or event. Perhaps when Christ was born of a virgin in a manger surrounded by shepherds who were "sore afraid" (whatever that was). Or maybe somewhere near the end of the world as we know it, when Christ returns (as they shouted from the pulpit), with things tattooed on his thigh, riding a big white horse, and (if that weren't enough) a sword coming out of his mouth! I couldn't know then that "Thy Kingdom come..." was deeply personal. And on a personal level - for the present time - as much about me coming to faith in Him, as it was about Him coming back on a horse. At any rate, I scarcely gave it thought for another six years.
