I dreaded opening the door.
I knew the first glimpse would have me choking back tears. And my fears were confirmed. His tiny toddler body connected to a labyrinth of tubes wrenched my heart. The scent of anxiety blanketed the cramped hospital room. Pneumonia frightens the b-jeebies out of me when it attacks these babies, so we layered prayers thick. And this time, within the week, he was back to his sunshiny self.
But answers are often not so quick. Or at least answered so I can see them.
So when it comes down to my own prayer walk, I can stay connected to God’s tubes of life-giving air…or not. I really have three choices:
1. Have faith that God hears with loving ears— And desperately wants to help, so I pray like crazy.
2. Believe he hears but is a “big picture” God—So I don’t want to bother him with my small stuff. I’d rather work it out myself.
3. Disbelieve that God takes the time to hear me—Either God is too busy to care, or I am not beloved, so I have no one to rely on but self. Yikes!
I don’t like the alternatives, so I choose the first one—not because I’m some amazing pious person. And believe me, I’ve had plenty of fall-on-my-knees-in-despair kind of praying after the eleventyth time I’ve tried it my way—angry prayers, fearful of the future prayers, impatient prayers, despondent prayers.
But I do believe the promise of scripture, though I may not always understand how it works out in the day to day.
“Do not be anxious about anything but in every situation, by prayer and petition with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 4:6-7
So I pray—When someone is tangled in the web of Satan. I trust God is placing people in her path to stop her decline. I know she has the choice to grab hold or reject. So I pray for a continual barrage of truth to wear her down.
I pray—When someone dies, even though his time came too soon and prayers swirled and blanketed, or an illness cripples and devastates. I don’t understand “why,” but I can’t let lack of understanding waver my faith.
I pray—And I argue with God about things he asks me to do outside my comfort zone. And I talk to him out loud—which would get me the raised-eyebrow-side-eye if anyone ever saw me doing it.
And I pray—When the sins of my soul weighs me down and I worry that God can keep forgiving my same errors day in and day out, (he does) as I stumble about like a permanent inhabitant on the island of misfit toys…
But here’s the secret sauce:
Worry has a miracle cure.
It is banished by prayer.
It is impossible to do both things at the same time.
When I take off my blinders of busy, I see evidence to answered prayer all around me. I read of his love, care and forgiveness through the ages, and see answered prayer in hindsight, so I keep on trucking down that muddy road.
And the crazy thing is…the more I pray, the more I want to pray. I’m not a big on-my-knees-before-bed kind of pray-er. I’m more of a pray at my mirror in the morning, and as I zip down the turnpike each day. Requests and thanks pop into my head like fireworks in the night sky. They are here one second and gone the next, so I pray while they are foremost in my overloaded brain.
So when life feels shaky
And when the rug is yanked from under your feet
And the daily grind is wearing you slick.
And illness is the unexpected valley you are plunged into,
Go to the one who cares the most, the one who ever waits with the open arms of peace for your soul.
Great stuff Loree. Love that someone else prays “like fireworks in the night sky” too. Beautiful…and more importantly, truthful.