Recently I set myself a personal goal: to know deeper intimacy with Jesus during the coming year. More than ever in my life—and probably especially because I was in pain from the collapse of some close relationships—I thirsted to know his love. “Why did things fall apart the way they did?” I would ask myself. “What did I do wrong?”

I tried to sort through the pain of these broken relationships as I had always worked through difficulties: by pushing myself to get closer to the Lord in the hopes that he would heal me. I prayed every day. I read Scripture. Still, I wasn’t experiencing the love of the Lord in the intimate, personal way that I so wanted. My knowledge seemed indirect—“mediated” through the words or witnesses of other people rather than flowing from a more immediate relationship.

In response, I multiplied my efforts, but still nothing broke the sadness in me or brought me any sense of consolation from God. I walked away from every prayer time feeling frustrated and anxious. “I’m not getting it,” I’d tell the Lord. “What’s the problem? Maybe I should just resign myself to living with these wounds for the rest of my life.”

Then, one evening in May, I finally poured out my heart to a friend. “You’re working too hard,” he said. “When you pray, don’t try to analyze everything—and especially don’t try to figure out what went wrong to cause these friends to turn on you. Prayer is a time to touch the Lord, not necessarily to work out all your problems. Instead, just breathe deeply, say the name of Jesus a few times, and relax. Picture him in your mind, or some image related to him, and let your imagination go. You may be surprised with how much the Holy Spirit can do with a quiet heart.”

So the next day, when I sat down to pray, I recalled a passage from Ezekiel that pictured God’s love like a small stream that becomes a river powerful enough to bear you up and draw you into his presence (Ezekiel 47:1-12). “Okay,” I said. “I’ll just imagine a little brook.” Then, trying my best to relax, I took a few deep breaths and asked Jesus to be with me.

In my mind, I pictured cool, clear water bubbling up around my feet and tried to imagine how refreshing that water would feel. Then the most amazing thing happened. The image of my feet standing in a little brook shifted to an image of Jesus kneeling before me, pouring water over my feet instead. I could see that my feet were bloodied and bruised, and that bits of glass and jagged thorns were lodged in them. And there was Jesus, bent over my feet with a look of great compassion and concern. He gently began to pick out all the junk and wash the blood away. He even kissed my feet.

Then, his words pierced me to the heart. “You are already clean. Yes, you have suffered a painful loss, but it didn’t happen because I am punishing you. It didn’t happen because you’re no good. All you need is for me to pick out the little shards and splinters that you’ve picked up. These shards and splinters are the inevitable result of trying to follow me in a fallen world.”

I felt such love at that moment, and such a conviction that everything was going to be all right. I just needed to let Jesus minister to me, and that was a whole new revelation. For years I had been a hard worker, especially when it came to the spiritual life. I was going to be the one to achieve holiness. I was the one who would make myself useful and pleasing to the Lord. But now that I had come to the end of my rope, I discovered that all my striving and hard work were as nothing compared to the love and grace Jesus wanted to pour over me. Even if I never put in another marathon of prayer and Scripture reading, even if I never made one more sacrifice of self-denial, Jesus would still love me. He would still call me his beloved son.

I wouldn’t exactly call this a mystical vision. It was more an image in my mind and an impression on my heart. There was no real water, and there were no audible words. But the sense of peace and calm was definitely real.

That one prayer time revolutionized the way I thought about God and about myself. It helped me to accept that I had failings and wounds and weaknesses, but that none of them kept God from loving me and wanting to bless me. Without giving up the fight against sin, I stopped striving to earn his love.

My prayer life changed dramatically as well. I stopped worrying about whether or not I would experience God’s presence or blessing in prayer. I stopped fretting over whether I was praying long enough or hard enough. Instead, my attitude became, “Here I am, Lord. What do you want to do in me today?”

I may pray a psalm, read a Scripture passage, sing a few songs, repent, or reflect—whatever I feel inclined to do. And even if I don’t “feel” Jesus’ blessing, I still know that he is with me, pouring out love. How do I know this? Because when I was at my most needy and at my least able to earn his grace, he washed my feet and told me I was clean. Now I know that there’s nothing like relaxing and enjoying the peace that comes from being a son of God.