From my 2011 journal. Yesterday I heard a report about a group prayer session for someone who is very sick with cancer. The reporter mentioned how a lady in the group could really pray—she really connected with God, a real prayer warrior. My reaction was multi-faceted: I’d like to be like that; I’m not like that; I wonder what pain she’s been through; I wonder what her temperament type is.
In my mind, I saw a visual of this prayer warrior lady piloting a large ship while, in contrast, my prayers were akin to clinging onto the side of the vessel, just going along for the ride.
When I talked to God about it, He said to let go and drop into the water. Really?! Ok . . . so I did . . . and found I didn’t drown as expected because the water was shallow enough to wade in. Then He told me to go back to the dry land and enjoy watching the monkeys and playing on the beach, and just spend time with Him. That’s when I noticed the prayer warrior lady was sailing around and around the island, keeping the bad things away from the island.
We each have our own job to do. I’m glad mine is to play on the beach and watch monkeys! I’m no “prayer warrior.” I’m a stay-in-His-presence-and-enjoy-Him kind of pray-er. Is that okay?
Somewhere, somehow, I find myself believing that my puny prayers—I mean the intercessory kind where my heart and brain are only half engaged—make very little difference.
It’s like when my girls were little and I was focused on what I was doing and one of them would approach me with a question. If it was a simple question like “May I go outside to play?” I could answer her without breaking focus. But, if she asked a question that demanded some thought, I’d have to stop what I was doing and turn to her and think about it.
Which of those interactions was meaningful and connected? My first thought is—only the second one. In the first, my mind was elsewhere. And sometimes I think my prayers are like that—the words are spoken, but the mind is elsewhere. But—and here’s the point—is communication of information any less valid or effective for my child? She still got a response from me even if my attention wasn’t fully on her. God wants communication from me. He’s always fully focused on me. It’s me who has a hard time tuning in fully.
And so I’ve somehow come to believe that a quick “mindless” prayer isn’t fully valid. Maybe there’s some truth to that. But on the other hand, it is a connecting point. I have voluntarily connected with my child. I have not turned her away. And I wasn’t in relationship with the neighbor’s kid. I have relationship with my own. Is it okay not to fully engage?
I think of Bill Rudd, my former youth pastor. I’ve never met a man who was so focused on each person he spoke to. Total attention and eye focus. Is this how my prayers should be? Preferably, yes. But the question is, “What if they’re not?” Is the communication any less valid? Is God’s answer dependent on how long, hard, or deep my intensity in prayer is?
When my child asks, “May I play outside?” she doesn’t have to beg and plead and cry to get me to answer yes. It’s a no-brainer if I know it’s safe outside and she’s old enough to handle that much independence. But what if there’s a lightning storm out there? No matter how much she pleads, I’ll say no for her safety’s sake. Other times, it’s just a preference for me whether I say no or yes, and her begging might change or help me make up my mind. The more she pleads and gives me good rational arguments, the more I’ll be apt to change my mind. (Moses did that with God.)
So . . . let’s say I pray for someone who’s sick. My prayers come from a different place in my heart if it’s “a friend of my co-worker’s cousin” who is ill versus my own child who’s in the hospital. One is a prayer “in passing” and the other is on my knees or face to the ground pleading for mercy.
What’s my question, then? Is it okay, effective, permissible, worth it, important, necessary, whatever, to pray for someone’s request if my whole focus, heart, and mind aren’t in it? The request is still valid. Perhaps the urgency isn’t there, but is it any less valid or effective? I don’t know. Is it ever a waste of time? Whew! How could that be? Surely any communication is better than none at all . . . .
The word I’m working on is “doubt.” If I ask in doubt, what’s the point in asking? It’s worth a try! There’s no harm in asking. If you don’t ask, you don’t receive. So there you have it. Just ASK! And then surrender to whatever answer my Parent gives me. But ask!
What kind of pray-er are you?
I want to g
Other Bible characters are given more positive labels: David the Shepherd Boy, Abraham the Man of Faith, Meek Moses. Yet their lives were not always exemplary. So why do those labels stick? Some people are able to shed their labels. Paul the Persecutor is better known as Paul the Apostle. Jacob the Deceiver became Jacob the Patriarch.
And when I turned around, I saw that it was one of those exotic Asian stores where everything smells pungent, but you have no clue how to cook with any of the ingredients. Jesus is with me, and I’m glad, but something else needs to be done.
Visual: I am the Israelite at the foot of the mountain who is forbidden from getting too close to the mountain. I’m never Moses and Joshua who climb the mountain and see God face-to-face. I stand at the foot and tremble at the smoke. Only the chosen one is permitted on the mountain. (The funny thing is, Moses had nothing to do with God choosing him. And besides that, he had a flawed character.)
I see a problem. It needs fixing. Then fix it already! What is that inner drive? Is it temperament? Genetics? Wounding? This drive can accomplish good things, or it can be a catalyst for ill. The thing is, when I see it in myself, I try to fix it. When I see it in others, I want to fix it myself or encourage them to fix it. I wonder: Why would anyone want to continue to wallow in the mire when there’s an answer for their pain?
From my 2010 Journal. In my counseling training, I heard one instructor say, “If something doesn’t work, try something else. Keep trying, keep working. Doing something is better than nothing, and it’s all good.”
In honor of the 10th anniversary of my mother’s death (has it really been that long!), here’s a piece I wrote for Mothers’ Day, 2005. Though hard to tell here, the original poem was in the shape of a pink (her favorite color) dress. She never wore a pair of pants in her entire life, and her unbraided hair reached down to her waist. I still miss her. For those who knew her, what would you add?
How do you respond when you’re sick or in pain and why?
