Yes, yes, I know that the nature of most things involving God is meant to remain a mystery to us who are still here seeing through a dark glass. His ways are not our ways. Blessed are those who believe even though they have not seen. And so on.
But I must say that I really really do not understand prayer, and I’m a little pissed off about it.
I have been thinking a lot about prayer these last few months. It keeps coming up as the most essential thing I must do as a follower of Jesus. It's how Jesus recharged, and Jesus knows I could use some recharging. Mother Theresa claims that everything starts with prayer. It's how you make big decisions and carry on with your little duties. It keeps you in connection with God. It can be simple and humble or long and involve candles.
I have been trying to make prayer more instinctual and to discover who I am as a pray-er. I think I have noticed that my prayers feel more real when they are physical. After my uncle died, and the mystery of his seemingly graceless life was foremost in my mind, I found myself wanting to pray on my knees, preferably with my face on the floor too. And then when the miracle of how the Holy Spirit was working in this most unlikely person was revealed, I wanted again to be on my knees. Last night I was running with my relay team-- the ones who showed up, which was only the fast men. It was very hot, and even when they promised to run my pace, I lost them after a couple of miles, so I was running in an unfamiliar forest preserve in the stifling heat with a sore foot by myself. It seemed like a good time to pray. I sang a few hymns and held up to God a few people. I asked God to run with me for a while. See? I’m trying.
Yesterday a friend called me from the east coast and told me that she is just being eaten up by the situation of a little girl in her community. She has a tumor on her brain stem that has permeated most of the brain, up to the cerebrum. My friend is friends with the girl's mother and has known the little girl since she was born five years ago. Her name is Gabby, in case you are a believer in prayer and can add yours to those already being sent out.
I am praying for Gabby because I know what it’s like to be desperate and to have even unknown people care about my desperate situation. Shortly after my sister had her kidney transplant from my mom, I ran a race in another state. On the way home from the packet pick-up, a friend of a friend, someone I had met in college but really only knew through others, asked about Cassie and my mom and told me that her church had been praying for them for weeks. You could say that the fact that doctors were able to remove a functioning organ from my mom and put it in my sister, where it would resume working, and that my mom survived the procedure as well is a testament to the brilliant advances in medical science in the last century. Or you could see it as a God-given miracle. I have no problem with seeing it as both, for it certainly is amazing enough to be amazing in any way you choose to look at it. But regardless of whether or not you see their on-going renal health these five years later as an act of God, I continue to be grateful to that congregation of people in another state praying and praying for my family. Even if God did not exist, I would still have felt lifted by their prayers. And so, having heard the story of Gabby, I added her to my recent list of people for whom I feel that I am, indeed, praying continually.
But I must say that I really really do not understand prayer, and I’m a little pissed off about it.
I have been thinking a lot about prayer these last few months. It keeps coming up as the most essential thing I must do as a follower of Jesus. It's how Jesus recharged, and Jesus knows I could use some recharging. Mother Theresa claims that everything starts with prayer. It's how you make big decisions and carry on with your little duties. It keeps you in connection with God. It can be simple and humble or long and involve candles.
I have been trying to make prayer more instinctual and to discover who I am as a pray-er. I think I have noticed that my prayers feel more real when they are physical. After my uncle died, and the mystery of his seemingly graceless life was foremost in my mind, I found myself wanting to pray on my knees, preferably with my face on the floor too. And then when the miracle of how the Holy Spirit was working in this most unlikely person was revealed, I wanted again to be on my knees. Last night I was running with my relay team-- the ones who showed up, which was only the fast men. It was very hot, and even when they promised to run my pace, I lost them after a couple of miles, so I was running in an unfamiliar forest preserve in the stifling heat with a sore foot by myself. It seemed like a good time to pray. I sang a few hymns and held up to God a few people. I asked God to run with me for a while. See? I’m trying.
Yesterday a friend called me from the east coast and told me that she is just being eaten up by the situation of a little girl in her community. She has a tumor on her brain stem that has permeated most of the brain, up to the cerebrum. My friend is friends with the girl's mother and has known the little girl since she was born five years ago. Her name is Gabby, in case you are a believer in prayer and can add yours to those already being sent out.
I am praying for Gabby because I know what it’s like to be desperate and to have even unknown people care about my desperate situation. Shortly after my sister had her kidney transplant from my mom, I ran a race in another state. On the way home from the packet pick-up, a friend of a friend, someone I had met in college but really only knew through others, asked about Cassie and my mom and told me that her church had been praying for them for weeks. You could say that the fact that doctors were able to remove a functioning organ from my mom and put it in my sister, where it would resume working, and that my mom survived the procedure as well is a testament to the brilliant advances in medical science in the last century. Or you could see it as a God-given miracle. I have no problem with seeing it as both, for it certainly is amazing enough to be amazing in any way you choose to look at it. But regardless of whether or not you see their on-going renal health these five years later as an act of God, I continue to be grateful to that congregation of people in another state praying and praying for my family. Even if God did not exist, I would still have felt lifted by their prayers. And so, having heard the story of Gabby, I added her to my recent list of people for whom I feel that I am, indeed, praying continually.
Last night before I fell asleep, I said one more prayer. I prayed for people I’ve been praying for for a while. I also prayed (again again again) for Gabby and for her family, for them to have strength and courage and for Gabby to get well, if that can fit into God’s will. I prayed for a friend who is having quadruple bypass surgery. I asked, again, for him to be well, if that can fit into God’s will.
Then I started to get confused and maybe even a little angry. Gabby is five. Why would it not be God’s will for her to get better? Surely he does not want her or her family to suffer, and if it is already God’s wish, what difference does it make if I pray continually for her health? Who am I that God would say, “Oh yeah, I do love that child and her family,” and make everything OK? And if that’s the way it is, why wasn’t God already fixing it?
Joe, the one planning to have heart surgery, is a grandfather, and not just to his own grandchildren. He is a leader in the church, a friend and father-figure to us in the running club, a devoted husband. He is very beloved here on earth. As far as I can tell, he lives for the Kingdom of God here on earth; at least he does as well as any of the rest of us. We depend on him. And so surely God understands that. Surely some of his will can be accomplished through extending Joe’s life another decade or two. If that’s not the case, then are my prayers going to make a difference? If it is God’s will that Joe’s surgery go well, what is my will compared to his?
So I guess the thing that bugs me about these prayers is what God does with them. Does God even receive them? Psalm 139 says that God knows a word before it is even on my tongue, so clearly David thinks God does hear my prayers, but what if they are all just in my head? Or do they reach God and bounce off? Is God is like a parent who hears the pleas but cannot fix things? Is God like a parent who could choose otherwise but makes us unhappy for our own good, for some more worthy long-term purpose we cannot see? How can that be possible in the case of a brain tumor in a five-year-old?
I have heard numerous people say they believe in the power of prayer. I understand that my prayers could change me, if I feel that all day I am in constant conversation with God. It makes sense that prayer could work in that way. But when it comes to the kind of prayer to which one expects an answer or a response, it all breaks down for me. Maybe God answers prayers, but maybe the answers are things God was going to do anyway because God was already God before any of us said a word.
I suppose when you get down to essentials, what God does with my prayers is not really my concern. The only decision I must make is whether or not to keep on praying. I’m sure my prayers will come and go, as they have in the past, but for now, the decision is made. I will keep praying for my friends and for my strangers because they are in my heart, and their troubles are simply too big and for me to do anything about but pray. If God is waiting for me to love people and to pray for them before God acts, well then I’m disappointed in God and feel less like praying to God. If God was going to come up with something wonderful whether or not I prayed, then God is as a loving God ought to be, in my opinion, although it renders my prayers pointless. It may not be my place to understand, but a little understanding would certainly help.
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