Pocket Prayer
Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray
about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he’s done. Then you will experience
God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard
your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.
(Phil. 4:6-7)
I'm a recovering
prayer wimp. I doze off when I pray. My thoughts zig, then zag, then zig-zag back
again. Distractions swarm like moths drawn to a summer flame. If attention
deficit disorder applies to prayer, then I’m afflicted. When I pray, I think of
a thousand things I need to do, and I forget the one thing I actually wanted to
do: pray. Some excel in prayer – they inhale heaven and exhale God. They’re the
Seal Team Six of intercession; they’d
rather pray than sleep. Me? Prayer is a sleep-inducement aid.
It's not that we
don't pray at all. We all pray some. On tear-stained pillows we pray. In grand
liturgies we pray. At the sight of geese in flight, or a sunrise, or an
eclipse? We pray. In fact, this week alone, more of us will pray than will
exercise, go to work, or have sex. Surveys indicate that one in five unbelievers pray daily. Why? Just in
case? We pray to stay sober, centered or solvent. We pray when the lump is
deemed malignant; when the money runs out before the month does; when the
unborn baby hasn't kicked in a while. We all pray . . . some. But wouldn't we
all like to pray more? Deeper? Stronger? With more fire, faith or fervency? Probably.
But we have kids
to feed, bills to pay and deadlines to meet. The calendar pounces on our good
intentions like a starving coyote on a skittering Ramona jackrabbit. We want to
pray, but when? We want to pray, but why? We might as well admit it. Prayer is just
a little odd; it’s … well … it’s weird.
Speaking into
space. Lifting words into the sky. We can't even get the cable company to
answer us, but God will? The doctor is too busy, but God isn't? We have our
doubts about prayer. And we have our own checkered history with the experience:
unmet expectations, unanswered requests. We can barely genuflect because of the
scar tissue on our knees. God, to some, is the ultimate heartbreaker. Why keep
tossing the coins of our longings into a silent fountain? He jilted me once . .
. but not again.
We aren't the
first to struggle with the subject. The sign-up sheet for Prayer 101 contains
some pretty familiar names like the apostles John, James, Andrew and Peter.
When one of Jesus' disciples requested, "Lord, teach us to pray"
(Luke 11:1), none of the others apparently objected. No one walked away saying,
"Naw, I’ve got this prayer thing figured out." It’s because the first
followers of Jesus needed some prayer guidance, too.
In fact, the
only tutorial they ever requested was on prayer. They could have asked for
instructions on a lot of topics: bread multiplying, speech making, storm
stilling. Jesus raised people from the dead. But a "How to Empty the
Cemetery" seminar? His followers never asked for one. But they did want
him to do this: "Lord, teach us to pray." Could their interest have
had something to do with the jaw-dropping, eye-popping promises Jesus attached
to prayer? "Ask and it will be given to you." (Matt. 7:7) "If
you believe, you will get anything you ask for in prayer." (Matt. 21:22)
Jesus never
attached that kind of power to other endeavors. "Plan and it will be given to you." Or, "You will get
anything you work for." Those
words aren’t in the Bible. But these are – “If you remain in me and follow my
teachings, you can ask anything you want, and it will be given to you."
(John 15:7) Jesus gave some pretty stunning prayer promises.
And he set a
compelling prayer example. Jesus prayed before he ate. He prayed for children.
He prayed for the sick. He prayed with thanks. He prayed with tears. He made
the planets and shaped the stars, yet he prayed. He’s the Lord of angels and the
Commander of heavenly hosts, yet he prayed. He’s the exact representation of
the Holy One, but he devoted himself to prayer. He prayed in the desert, in the
cemetery and in the garden. "He went out and departed to a solitary place;
and there He prayed." (Mark 1:35) In fact, the following dialogue must
have been pretty common among his friends: "Has anyone seen Jesus?"
"Yeah. He's doing that again."
"Praying?” "Yep; he’s been gone since sunrise." In fact, Jesus
would even disappear for an entire night of prayer. Remember?
He'd just
experienced one of the most stressful days of his ministry. The day began with
the news of the murder of his cousin, John the Baptist. Jesus sought to retreat
with his disciples, but a crowd of thousands followed him. Though
grief-stricken, he spent the entire day teaching and healing people. And when
they discovered that the people had no food to eat, Jesus multiplied bread out
of a basket and fed the entire multitude. So, in the span of just a few hours,
he battled sorrow, stress, demands and needs. He deserved a good night's rest.
Yet when evening finally came, he told the crowd to leave and the disciples to
board their boat so that he could go “up into the hills by himself to pray."
(Mark 6:46)
Apparently, it
was the right choice. A storm exploded over the Sea of Galilee that night,
leaving the disciples "in trouble far away from land, for a strong wind
had risen, and they were fighting heavy waves. About three o'clock in the
morning Jesus came toward them, walking on the water." (Matt. 14:24-25)
Jesus ascended the mountain depleted, and he reappeared invigorated. Because when
he reached the water, he never broke stride. You'd have thought the water was a
park lawn and the storm a spring breeze. Do you think the disciples made the
prayer-power connection then? "Lord, teach us to pray like that. Teach us to find strength in prayer. To banish fear in
prayer. To defy storms in prayer. To come off the mountain of prayer with the
authority of a king."
The disciples
faced angry waves and a watery grave. And you face angry clients, a turbulent
economy, and raging seas of stress and sorrow. "Lord," we still
request, "teach us to pray." And when the disciples asked Jesus to
teach them to pray, he gave them a prayer. Not a lecture on prayer. Not the
doctrine of prayer. He gave them a quotable, repeatable, portable prayer. (Luke
11:1-4)
It seems to me
that the prayers of the Bible can be distilled into one. The result is a
simple, easy-to-remember (for me), pocket-sized prayer: “Father, you are good. I
need help. Please help me and forgive me. They need help; please help them, too.
Thank you, God. In Jesus' name. Amen.” When applied, and as you begin your
morning, it’s like, “Father, you are good.” And as you commute to work, or walk
the hallways at school, it’s “I need help.” And as you wait in the grocery
line, you note that “They need help; help them, too.” A prayer in your pocket
as you pass through the day.
Prayer, for most
of us, is not a matter of a month-long retreat, or even an hour of meditation.
Prayer is a conversation with God while driving to work, or waiting for an
appointment, or before interacting with a client. It doesn’t have to be
lengthy. Peter prayer, “Lord, save me” when he found himself sinking after water-walking
at Jesus’ invitation to “come.” (Matt. 14:30) Nehemiah’s prayer couldn’t have lasted
more than a nanosecond when the King, seeing Nehemiah’s despondency, asked him what he could do to help his cupbearer in distress. (Neh. 2:4)
This much is
sure, however: God will teach you to pray. Don't think for a minute that he’s glaring
at you from a distance with arms crossed and a scowl, waiting for you to get
your prayer life together. It’s just the opposite. "Here I am! I stand at
the door and knock. If you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in and
eat with you, and you will eat with me." (Rev. 3:20) Jesus is waiting on
the porch. He’s standing at your threshold. He’s tapping on your door. He’s
whispering your name. He’s waiting for you to pick up the phone.
Prayer is
answering that ringtone. Opening that door. Prayer is the hand of faith on the
door handle of your heart. That willing pull. That happy welcome to Jesus:
"The kitchen’s a little messy, Lord, but come on in." Or, "I
didn't clean up much, but come on in, Jesus." Even, "I'm not much of
a conversationalist, but let’s talk."
I may be a prayer
wimp, but I’m a recovering prayer wimp. Not where I long to be, but not where I
was. My time in prayer has become my time of power. My simple prayer has become
a cherished friend. Its phrases linger in my thoughts like a favorite song. Father, you are good. I need help. Please help
me and forgive me. They need help; please help them, too. Thank you. In Jesus'
name. Amen.
When we invite
God into our world, he walks in. And he brings a host of gifts with him, too.
Gifts like joy, patience, resilience. Anxieties come, but they don't stay.
Fears surface and then depart. Regrets land on the windshield, but then comes
the wiper of prayer. The devil still hands me rocks of guilt, but I turn and
give them to Christ. Struggles come, for sure. But so does God. We speak. He
listens. He speaks. We listen. That’s prayer in its purest form. God changes
his people through moments like these.
Prayer is not a
privilege for the pious, nor is it the art form of a chosen few. Prayer is
simply a heartfelt conversation between God and his child. He wants to talk
with you. Even now, as you read these words, he’s knocking on your door. So, open
it. Welcome him in. Let the conversation begin. You’ll never know where the
conversation will lead. But he does. He knows the way.
Grace,
Randy
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