Talk is Cheap– Part II

In my last post, I talked about cheap talk and cheap grace. Today, I want to turn the tables a bit, and talk about the value of talk– specifically prayer and words of encouragement.

Our society has become very fond of visuals– charts, graphs, comparisons, checklists, measurements, etc. We want to see documentation of goals met, incremental achievements, mastery levels, and verified accomplishments.

Prayer doesn’t fit that mold. God doesn’t send us a “receipt” for prayer requests received or answered. There is no contest for the number or quality of prayers listed up to heaven. There is no “success” strategy that guarantees speedier responses or “better” miracles.

I’m writing and thinking about prayer, but I can’t claim to be an expert or proficient, or better able to teach about prayer than anyone else. Still, I think I can speak from experience to the value of pursuing a life of prayer and honest reflection before God. Like most other worthy pursuits, prayer is learned and refined through practice. The more I pray, the more I understand what it is, how it works, and why it is important.

“I shouldn’t just be praying about this, I should be DOING something…” In times of stress, disaster, or crisis, it is tempting to believe that visual, measurable action is what counts. Prayer is for those who cannot or will not take action..it is plan B. But this view cheapens prayer. Prayer should be our first response. Pray for wisdom and guidance before taking action, and you may avoid making frantic and ineffective decisions. Sometimes, our wisest action is to watch God do what we could not imagine; sometimes it is to support and encourage others, instead of pushing through, stepping on toes, or getting in the way. Prayer can teach us more about trusting God; it can give us peace and confidence to act more effectively, and it can open our eyes to the opportunities in the midst of crisis. That doesn’t mean that prayer should become a substitute for action when we have the means and opportunity and motivation to act. But there are times when I think we act out of a sense of false pride or impatience, rather than a prompting of the heart, mind, or spirit.

We are commanded to pray– even to pray continually, constantly– without ceasing. While this (of course) doesn’t mean that our every waking moment should be consumed with prayer to the exclusion of anything else, it means that God values our words, praises, songs, groans, tears, joyful whoops, and other communications with him. This raises a question that I have struggled with in the past. If God is omnipotent, he doesn’t NEED my prayer to bring change, or healing, or success, or protection, or anything else. Yet he wants me to pray– he tells me that if I pray in faith I can ask anything in his Name and he will give it to me. This seems like a paradox, but I believe that God’s command is not about Him. In this case, it is about us. He wants to include us in the work he is doing; in the change and healing he brings (or even withholds). Why– because he is a generous God! He gives us the privilege of being part of the goodness he sends. He wants us to share the power of speaking goodness, peace, forgiveness, and blessing. As we share our hearts and lives with him, he wants to include us in his work. Not all my prayers fall into this category, but what an encouragement to value prayer– especially prayers lifting up our needs to a loving God.

Talk is cheap, action is precious, but prayer is priceless…May I remember the difference!

February 15, 2018 0

Praying through the Tears

My mother was fond of using quotes and pithy sayings–“Pretty is as pretty does”, “You’re never fully dressed without a smile”, “Don’t judge a person until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes.” But one of the sayings that always bothered me was, “Laugh, and the world laughs with you; cry, and you cry alone.”

As a child and a young adult, I dreamed of a family— laughing with my husband and children around the dinner table; tucking in sweet-smelling, freshly bathed toddlers– I knew it wouldn’t always be dreamy like that, but I knew those precious moments would be worth the pains and frustrations that came with them.

Except they didn’t. The years passed. I worked hard, I dated occasionally, and I waited. I loved my work as a teacher, and later as a youth services librarian. Many of my friends married; my siblings married and had children. I was surrounded most days with amazing, talented, infuriating, inspiring, adorable, mostly happy, and sometimes moody teens and children. Other people’s children. And I felt guilty, frustrated, and angry. I wanted marriage. I wanted my own children. Well-meaning people kept setting me up on dates or suggesting pen pals, dating services, other churches to visit (“they have such a great program for singles…”), moving to a different town or bigger city. Some even suggested that I wasn’t trying hard enough–I needed a make-over, a new wardrobe, a new strategy. I needed to be more assertive with men, or less independent, or more feminine. I needed to be less picky. Other suggestions were even harsher–I wasn’t mature enough; God needed to “grow me up” before I would be ready for marriage.

In my mid-thirties, just as my “clock” was ticking louder and more insistent, I received an awful blow. “Polycystic ovary syndrome” meant that I had certain symptoms (underactive thyroid, facial hair, a greater risk of ovarian cysts, ovarian cancer, and heart disease) and certain irregularities, mood swings, etc. associated with my monthly cycle. But it also meant that my dream of having children was unlikely ever to be anything but a dream. Even if I had married young; even if I married within a week and started hormone therapy or invitro, my chances of conceiving and carrying to full term were essentially nil. I was stunned. I was numb for several hours, and then I cried.

And I cried alone. I wasn’t always crying; I read a lot, and watched a lot of TV and movies, sang along with my favorite CDs, danced around my living room like no one was watching (after all, no one was watching!), and, sometimes, I prayed. But I cried a lot, too. And I prayed through the tears. My prayers were sometimes prayers of anger, or confusion, questioning God’s love, his timing, his purpose. All those years of praying, asking God for a husband and children– had he been laughing at my pain? He knew I couldn’t have children– why had he allowed me to hope for so many years?

But long before I knew that I was barren; long before I had fully formulated my dream of the family I would never have, God had a plan for my good. For every tear I shed, he was right there with me– even when I couldn’t feel him there; even when I raged at him. I had a dream– it was a good dream, but it was a dream. And God’s plans are better than my dreams. ALWAYS. His plans are for our good–but not always for our pleasure.

Sometimes I still cry at night for the children I never had. But when I finish crying, I thank God. Not because of those missing children, but because out of that pain has come compassion– for other women who cry similar tears. Tears for children lost or never born; tears for children they chose to give up, or children who were taken. I thank God because of the many experiences I ended up gaining as a single woman– opportunities to travel, to pursue interests and develop skills. How many more opportunities might I have taken had I trusted God more than my dreams earlier and more fully?

And I thank God because of what he has given–nieces and nephews, grand-nieces and grand-nephews, former students and patrons who are still in touch and who still enrich my life. Most of all, I thank God for the privilege of leaving my tears to join my husband (a man who pursued me even as I was ready to give up on my dream of being a wife–I became a bride at 46!), my step-children, and our grandchildren; as well as a new set of wonderful nieces, nephews, and great-nephews (we’re still waiting for great-nieces on that side of the family).

Even if I never had the “happy ending” of a husband and family, I would still be grateful to my very good Father. And I will continue to pray through the tears when they come.

February 10, 2018 0

Prayer and Social Media

There are several positive and proactive aspects of prayer I want to explore in this journey, but I don’t want to deny or ignore some of the bad habits and false ideas that sometimes come with prayer.

One of the reasons I am writing this blog (see Prayer is a Pursuit) is to answer some of the critics and detractors of prayer. Many of these critics are responding to what they see of and about prayer on FB or Twitter, on blogs like this, or on spiritually-minded websites. If all I knew of prayer came from reading dashed-off posts and prayer memes accompanied by soothing photos, I would have a false and shallow idea of prayer, and one that invites criticism.

The Bible describes, and the Church practices, many different kinds of prayer. Prayer can be intensely personal and private. It can be communal or corporate in nature. There are prayer partners, prayer groups, prayer chains, and congregational prayers. But prayer is not primarily or ideally a social activity, and its essence is not suited to be broadcast or posted.

Social media can be a very helpful tool TOWARD prayer– requests, needs, and answered prayer can be shared; prayer can be urged and encouraged; prayer can be discussed (as in this post); prayers can be made public as examples. And people can be greatly encouraged by the knowledge that their needs are being lifted up by family, friends, even strangers across town, across the country, and even around the world.

But prayer on social media also presents real problems, and I’ve gotten caught up in some, so I’m sharing some of what I have learned. These areas have been stumbling blocks for me– that does not mean that they are “bad” practices in general, or that my questions or criticisms will apply to others. But if someone else struggles with these thoughts or issues, I hope my journey might help.

Social media tends to promote the “tyranny of the urgent”– posts pop up screaming for attention NOW. I feel pressure to respond immediately with something encouraging. To say that I am “praying” or “I will keep you in my prayers” is encouraging–but is it true? A couple of years ago, I realized that, in my desire to comfort and uplift, I had started stretching the truth. I meant to pray for the person/situation/need…sometimes I sent a hasty and half-hearted thought heavenward before scrolling on. But I wasn’t really opening my heart to God OR to the person in the post. As one critic put it– I was making myself feel better. My words may have given momentary comfort or encouragement, but they were basically empty and hollow. I made a vow going forward to do one of three things:
- If I can, I will stop what I am doing and take the time to really pray about the situation BEFORE I respond, comment, share, etc.
- If I can’t take the time right now, but I have my prayer journal handy, note the concern on today’s page (or tomorrow’s) to make sure I include it in my daily devotional time, so I can pray thoughtfully and whole-heartedly. Sometimes I will comment after the note is written, or after the prayer has been said.
- If I can’t stop, add it to my prayer journal, or make a note– I don’t comment or respond. The other person may not know the difference, but I will. I don’t want to give a false impression.
Social media thrives on drama, algorithms, and visibility. Recently, I received two similar prayer requests within a day of each other. Two friends shared about two different men in life-threatening situations needing prayer. One of my friends’ posts went viral, with people setting up fundraisers for the family, a website, and daily updates. The other post simply said, “Please share.” It got a few responses, and one update to say that the man had died of his injuries. These men were both precious in the sight of God. They were both badly injured in the line of duty, and both had families who loved them and were in crisis. They were both equally in need, but not equally visible. I prayed for both, but I wondered at the difference in visibility, and how it might be changing our prayer focus. I am tempted, as I spend time on social media, to be concerned about those things that are most visible. But who is hurting in my neighborhood, among my friends, among those people I interact with daily– their needs invisible to me because I’m only focused on what I see online?
Social media is both social and self-oriented. How many people “like” or “follow” me? How big is the circle of people I can reach? What impression do others have of me? But prayer is not about me. I have a bad habit (shared by many others–especially Americans, I think) of wanting to be seen as independent and self-sufficient. I want to be the one offering support–the “prayer” and not the “pray-ee”. But if I’m going to put myself “out there” in either capacity, social media tempts me to measure and compare myself with others. I am tempted not to ask for prayer for little ordinary things, tempted to exaggerate some pains and downplay others, and tempted to respond to others in ways that make me look “good.” That’s just human nature, but it’s also sin, especially when selfish concerns and petty thoughts crowd out the natural compassion I should have for others and the honesty I should have about my own weaknesses and strengths.
Social media is a “glass house.” What you post in haste, in jest, or for your “besties” is out there for everyone to see– and judge. We are told not to judge, lest we be judged (from Matthew 7:1). There are several groups who love to quote the first part of that verse, but it’s the second part that relates equally to social media. If I post beautiful words about prayer and encouragement for my Christian friends, and hateful rhetoric about my political foes, I had better be willing to own up to having a double standard. The same goes for the random offensive, suggestive jokes, the rants about my noisy neighbor and my unsaved relatives. Sitting in front of a silent screen tempts us to “let rip” with sarcasm, frustration, self-righteous indignation, and self-congratulation. All of us have probably posted things we later regretted because we think better of our words, or because someone “took them wrong” . I want to become better at prayer, better at communicating about it, defending it from attack, and promoting it. But that comes with a responsibility to learn, be honest about my failures, and open about the struggles I face.

I hope to do just that as I journey forward– on- and off-line!

February 9, 2018 0

Persistent Prayer

I grew up attending a tiny country church numbering only a few families. Church was not just a place to visit for coffee and a sermon on Sunday morning. There were no large screens, no light shows, no bands, no padded theater seats. What we didn’t have in the way of amenities, we made up for with fellowship– pot lucks, church-wide outings, bake sales to raise money for missionaries, and community-wide Christmas caroling every December. We didn’t have a big budget or slick publications. There was no website or gym; no trendy decor in the entryway, or sound system. But there was prayer– lots of it! Prayer to open Sunday School; prayer to open the service; prayer at the end of Sunday service; and Wednesday Evening Prayer Meeting. This was, for the children, an evening of games, singing, stories, and socializing with our friends, all in the church basement (painted cinder block walls, industrial fluorescent lights hanging down from beams to light up folding tables and metal folding chairs on the bare cement floor, which was sometimes home to spiders, toads and even the occasional salamander). But upstairs, it was all business. An hour of adults in the community coming together to pour their hearts out to God.

As I became a teen, I “graduated” to the upstairs–to a young teen it seemed an interminably long and slow process of sharing requests, sharing praises, and taking turns mumbling and rambling and regurgitating all that had come before, this time with eyes closed, and some of the old-timers on their knees instead sitting in the un-padded and creaky wooden pews. Sometimes, there would be two or three hymns or a short devotional to round out the hour-long service.

I know there are churches that still have mid-week (usually Wednesday night) services, and some of them are devoted to corporate prayer (my current church has one, in fact). But most of these services have died out– due, I suspect, to the view I described above. Very few of us are devoted to getting out one night every week to spend an hour kneeling on a hard floor “sharing” needs with others, only to repeat them to God. But I think somewhere we missed the point, and the value, of these gatherings. In going to Prayer Meeting, I got to hear the hearts of three generations of people across our community– farmers, construction workers, teachers, retired grandfathers, teens like me, pastors, recovering alcoholics, homemakers, business men and women–people with wildly different struggles, triumphs, and needs, and in different stages of their Christian walk. I heard the exuberance of new converts, and the steady faith of aging saints; the struggles of the brokenhearted widower, and the needs of new parents.

Perhaps the most valuable lesson from Prayer Meeting was about persistent prayer. Week after week we reported answered prayers, but other requests seemed to linger. Some who desired healing never found it (in this life). Some relationships were never restored. Some faced the same struggles with anger, or job loss, or loneliness over a period of months. Was our prayer ineffective, or our faith deficient? Did God not hear? Didn’t he care?

I believe God heard every word; every groan, every sigh. I believe he ached with every burden we brought before his throne. I believe he was (and is) in the midst of every gathering. And I believe that prayer is often like those conversations we have with our oldest and dearest friends about those same persistent problems. God has the power to deliver us without the struggle, without the wait. We don’t know why he allows some struggles to play out over years while others end in timely triumph. But I believe that for every situation that challenges our faith and endurance, he is there for every tear, every question, every ‘SMH’ moment, every stumbling step forward. And when we come together to share the burden with our neighbors, family, friends in fervent prayer– God is present, not just as the Father on his throne, but as the Son who cried out on his knees in the Garden of Gethsemane, and the Spirit who interprets our groaning when words are not enough.

I say a lot of quick prayers; sometimes urgent, and often simplistic and even easy prayers. I am slowly rediscovering the value of persistent and corporate prayer.

February 8, 2018 1

Prayer is a Pursuit

“Stop sending your thoughts and prayers– they are useless. Get up off your knees and take action, instead.”
I was stunned. People had been reacting on Facebook to a recent tragedy by posting their concerns. Most of them were heartfelt messages sending “thoughts and prayers” to the victims and their families. But they were followed by a backlash of anger and frustration so visceral that I felt sucker-punched. Worst was an entire article that suggested that praying was a futile distraction– an admission of helplessness that actually contributed to inaction, injustice, false hope, and secretly condoned violence and victimization as part of “God’s will.”
As I reeled from what I felt was a sharp and hateful article, I stopped to wonder where that kind of anger and bitterness was coming from. Some of it was obviously a reaction to the tragedy itself– a violent attack resulting in a senseless loss of life. Such events leave us feeling shocked, confused, and helpless– How could this happen? Why? And, often, our questions are directed at God– “Where were you?” “Why did you let this happen?” “Don’t you care?” We may question God’s goodness, his justice, and his very existence. Our prayers may even seem futile– unheard and unanswered.
So why did the article and its suggestions shock and hurt me so deeply? Was it a lurking conviction that the author had a valid point? Am I wasting my time when I pray for those who are grieving and suffering pain and loss? Am I wasting my time praying to a God who seems distant in times of crisis?

Which brought me back to the basics–in this case, what IS prayer?

This blog is an attempt to pursue the many interconnected answers to that question. At its heart, I believe (as do most people of a spiritual bent, regardless of their particular religious tenets) that prayer is an attempt to talk to, to communicate with, God. But what I believe about prayer is dependent on what I believe about God. Does he exist? Really exist? What (if anything) does he expect of me? Blind and slavish fealty? Absolute, if grudging, obedience? Idle/Idol worship? A comfortable, acquaintance, a mutual admiration? A deep and eternal inseparable relationship?
Our prayers will be shaped by our answers to those and other questions– if I believe that God only wants me to recite a canned response every once in awhile, that’s what I will give. If I believe that God wants me in perpetual groveling…you get the idea.

So what do I believe about God and how to communicate with him? First, I believe that Prayer is a pursuit– it is my earnest desire to seek out the God who made me in his image– unique and precious in his sight. I believe he WANTS to hear from me, and he WANTS to answer with revelation of his nature, his character, his heart. Second, I believe that prayer is positive, because God is good. Prayer is not an obligation, though it should be a discipline. Prayer is not merely a ritual, though there are many forms it may take, from formal recitations to wordless groans. Prayer moves us toward God, and toward others around us. It is not static; it is not a vague wish or empty hope.
Third, I believe that prayer is powerful–much more than most of us recognize. Far from being futile and inactive, I find that prayer leads to dramatic changes. I have seen miraculous transformations–in myself, in others, even in the wider world–as a result of prayer. The fact that God doesn’t always give us instant and dramatic answers doesn’t negate those times when he does provide the miracle. And it doesn’t mean that our prayers were unheard, or unanswered. Finally, it doesn’t make God complicit with the evil things that happen– God doesn’t give us cancer or send a flood to punish us for something we did or didn’t do, and he doesn’t keep us in pain or allow us to struggle without reason or remedy.

So, I am starting a quest to share my pursuit– things I have learned, am learning, and hope to or need to learn about this amazing gift called prayer.

February 7, 2018 0

Introduction

This is an experiment–in my own pursuit of a deeper, richer prayer life, I want to share some of the struggles and triumphs I have had in and through prayer. I would also like to share (and gather) suggestions to enrich how we can grow closer to God, closer to others, and closer to becoming more Christlike in our daily walk.