Learning to Pray All Over Again

My prayer life is anything but inspirational. In fact, at times, it’s downright embarrassing, more like a multi-looped roller coaster than the steady forward progression expected of believers.

It didn’t start out this way. Ten years ago, when the reality of the power available to me through the blood of Christ first took hold, I prayed non-stop, in faith, expecting the miraculous. And I got it, again and again. I felt like a Paul and Silas combined in one.

But over time, as I listened to prayers offered by believers much more mature than I, my “God please, show us Your glory!” quickly turned to “Lord, if it is Your will…” and “Help us accept Your will.”

Before long, my on-fire faith became watered down with human-rationalism. It wasn’t that I doubted God’s power, or so I said. I was only being respectful. After all, He was the Creator of the universe, not I. He certainly didn’t need my help healing, helping, comforting, anyone.

It wasn’t long before my prayer time became scripted and dutiful. Oh, I still prayed. After all, that’s what all good Christians do, right? But it was nothing more than lip service. Having given up on the “miraculous” I began to look for the expected and predictable. Prayer by emotionless prayer, my heart grew more and more disconnected.

Until Hurricane Katrina hit.

We were living in Shreveport, Louisiana, at the time, far enough away from the storm to stay safe, yet close enough to see the devastation. Family ties in the south run deep and most of our friends had family living in the New Orleans area. There was such a thick blanket of gloom over the entire region, it felt like a never-ending funeral. I remember walking through the grocery store one afternoon, passing the empty shelves and staring into the hollow eyes of people all around me. I wondered which of them had lost a loved one or were anxiously awaiting news.

Two of my friends had aging parents further south. There was some apprehension at first as we awaited news; but within short order, our anxiety was alleviated. Both sets of parents were far enough away from New Orleans to avoid any major calamity. So we assumed everything was fine and went about our business trying to care for the large influx of hurting and hungry people packed into our churches, shelters, hotels and convention centers.

Tina (name changed to protect privacy), a dear friend and born leader, was on the forefront. She was often one of the first to show up each morning and the last to leave distributing toiletries, clothing and food items for Katrina victims. Her stories of God-moments kept us all energized and reminded us that no matter how dark the storm and no matter how thick the rubble, God was still there, holding His children together.

But then things hit closer to home; and Tina, the prayer warrior, was in need of prayer. Her father, already in poor-health, took a turn for the worse. I was sitting in a mutual friend’s kitchen when I first heard the news. Tina’s father was bleeding out—fast. With the hospitals, and even veterinary clinics, jam-packed with Katrina victims, there was nowhere for him to go.

The situation seemed hopeless. After my friend hung up the phone and relayed the information to me, we stood there speechless, processing it all. A moment later we grabbed hands, fighting back tears. With all hope gone, there was nothing left to do but cry out to God.

I prayed first and, as I began, years worth of “Your will be done” swam through my mind. I started to pray for God’s comfort for Tina and her family, but then I stopped. This was too important. It hurt too badly, and asking for comfort just wasn’t good enough. In desperation for my friend, I poured my heart out to God begging for the miraculous. My friend and many others who had heard or were just hearing the news joined me. I’m not sure how long we continued. There wasn’t anyone watching the clock or searching for the right words to say. Our words poured easily, fervently, from united and completely broken hearts.

After talking with Tina the next day, we learned that the bleeding had stopped completely during the time we were praying!

Tina’s father died a few weeks later, but it was in a peaceful environment surrounded by family and friends. His momentary healing had not been in vain—it revived my faith and my passion for intercessory prayer. True, God is sovereign and He’s going to do what He knows to be best, but He also hears us when we cry out to Him and allows us to catch a faint glimmer of His glory. And when we pray with heartfelt honesty, He invites us to participate.