Truth About My Prayer Life

I don’t let too many people inside where the deep down issues are. All joking about my brain being a scary place to be and no one wanting to go there aside, I am an introvert. Thoughts whirl around inside me and come out intact and solid mostly on paper. Articulating my thoughts through speech often makes them hang up somewhere between brain and tongue. Some are better left there but we will maybe peer into those another time.

When I first asked God to intervene in my life and help me believe in Jesus, prayer was a one-time request for help. End of story. End of prayer. Life would be a Cinderella story from there on. What we don‘t often realize about Cinderella is that life was rotten pre-fairy godmother, exciting and somewhat terrifying during the fairy godmother hours, and we do not get to see the rest of the story. They lived happily ever after. If one lives happily on and on, one cannot recognize the true delights of happiness. Every life on this imperfect earth needs enough hardship so the joys are magnified and appreciated. The life that remains flat-lined is at best humdrum (or, you know what flat line represents in all TV “ER” melodramas).

As a child I had one prayer I repeated for every purpose. “God, please protect us and preserve us.” (us being family members). I made us sound like cucumbers to be turned into pickles! As our family grew with siblings marrying and having children the same prayer blanketed all. In retrospect, it wasn’t a bad prayer, but I was casting out a prayer to a God I was mad at. A well-meaning evangelical neighbor had a conversation with my mother when I was about age three or four. Neither woman knew I was within hearing.

I loved to play Mary on the way to Bethlehem. I would pile bed pillows to be the donkey, wrap myself in sheets and blankets to look like Mary in my picture Bible, and carry one of my many dolls in swaddling clothes. During the conversation, the woman became frustrated with Mom because there was no interest in attending church. By this time my mother’s stubborn German pride had reared its ugly head and she pronounced herself a heathen. The woman with condemnation dripping from every syllable told Mom she was going to Hell and was taking her whole family with her! I was so sad. How could God like that woman and not my mother? I put away the swaddling clothes, took off my drapery and saw the pillows for what they were; they were just bed pillows and not a donkey to carry the Heavenly Baby. I told God I would rather go to Hell with my family than come alone to Heaven to be with Him.

What that woman never knew, never bothered to find out, and could not possibly have divined was that she was talking to another woman who had a bucket load of sorrows. Much of Mom’s sorrow came from “good Christian people” some who meant well and some who were acting in sin underneath showy righteousness. I may at some point share more deeply, but an overview follows.

Dad and Mom at one time were owners of a small business (gas station and repair garage) in a small town. They were pillars of their community, served in their local church, and held their heads up. My brother, who was their second child, began being a problem at church. After a prolonged period of illness, he was brought back to church for the first time where he began screaming to go home and saying things that could not possibly be true. He had been sexually abused by the pastor of the church. This was not just unbelievable in people’s eyes, but my parents were asked to never bring him through the church doors again. Dad spanked him with a belt until he cried himself to sleep. He had no memory of any of it when he awoke so Mom and Dad chose to think that was best for all concerned. The fact that he had nightmares about being stalked in a church basement was something he would “grow out of”. He finally did when he was in his 70’s! Another blog, perhaps. The depression came, the business was lost, the the couple who were outcasts at church became outcasts in the community as well. They moved to the northern suburbs of Minneapolis. By this time there were two more children. For several years the family lived in a tar paper shack. It was one room and they were happy to have it. My dad walked from a small town in southern Minnesota to Minneapolis to seek work and perhaps obtain help from his brother and his wife who were blessed with a good income. He was refused and returned home in the same 24 hour period (nearly a 50 mile jaunt). Once settled in the suburbs, Dad found work, and they attended another church. There the good church ladies tried to have the two younger children removed because too many people were living in a one room shack. Welfare visited and found the home warm, clean, the kids with clothes and food and that was that. Church became someplace to avoid. God was talked about but there was a lot of doubt as to whether He truly cared about individuals.

To give you a little time-line, Dad and Mom married in 1920, their children were born in 1921, 1924, 1931, 1934, and myself in 1942. They saw both world wars, the great depression, Korea. They each remembered the days prior to electricity and lived to see moon landings. By the time I was born, we were living in a tiny little house in Columbia Heights.

God was third after Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny. They gave me presents. He was silent. We were a close family and very loving. Sometimes a neighbor or my Dad’s sister Evalyn would take us to church. For the most part, we were “unchurched”. So, it was when my nephew Larry was born, had a near fatal bout with spinal meningitis, and was to be baptized I faced God again. I wanted to be Larry’s godmother (though I had no clear idea of what that meant). The pastor said he would not baptize Larry unless my sister (unmarried at that time) and I were baptized first. It seemed odd to me that the church just assumed we believed in God and we didn’t have to take any classes or profess our faith in any really clear manner. (I did learn later that Pat had given her life to Christ when Larry was so ill. Perhaps her profession of faith covered both of us in the pastor’s eyes.) I was 14 years old. Dressed in matching dresses, Pat and I were baptized and then Larry. End of attendance at church.

My next prayer was referred to in an earlier blog. I prayed for a life-mate. The prayer was specific and desperate that I would have my life mate before my parents died. Dave was that answer and he matched the specifics of the person I hoped for almost to the letter. I met and married Dave in 1965, Dad died in 1966 (at age 69 and well past the 46-year mark of most of his ancestors), and Mom died in 1967 (at age 66). In every instance God answered the prayer of someone who was not an unbeliever but was hostile at best. I think I was sure He existed but He was somewhere out there and I was here! He not only answered, He superseded my needs because I had both Dave and Helen before my parents died.

During those deaths, during Dave’s tour in Viet Nam, I prayed in a convoluted, confusing way. Dave kept telling me to have faith. How? In whom? Oddly enough, after Dave’s tour of duty he was disillusioned about the God he had committed himself to in 1961 and I was seeking God. Talk about riding a see-saw!

In 1972 I finally gave my life to Christ. I know the Bible says God knew us before we were knit together in the womb. But did He truly know what a nuisance I would be? Was He truly prepared for the ways in which I would take to learn about Him? How He must have wept and laughed at times. Like the yesterday’s newspapers I had hung on every wall with sharpie scribbling as I tried to create a family tree so I could understand the 12 tribes of Israel. I finally quit driving Dave, God and myself crazy when some wise person told me the Bible skips generations at a time. No wonder I couldn’t fit them all into my brain box!

I prayed for our babies, for their safety, health, and protection. Oddly, I didn’t know to pray for their salvation nor their friends nor against outside influences. God knew I was learning; He understood what I didn’t know how to do. I was still pretty much in the “pickle prayer” stage. I prayed for those times life was a struggle. I prayed for those in our two families struggling with addictions. I was not very good at it, but I tried.

My sister Betty was diagnosed with breast cancer. Her youngest child and our Marc were the same age – pre kindergarten. I wanted to pray for her. I studied when to pray, why to pray, who to pray to, and how to pray. I spent time alone in a little quiet space for prayer. I had a picture of Betty at her loveliest and healthiest in my mind to present in prayer as how she should be healed. The cancer metastasized to a tumor in her brain. I prayed harder. Her husband lost his job and their savings dwindled and times were tough. I prayed harder. I prayed longer. Betty died three years after treatment for her breast cancer. I was so hurt! I remember taking apart my quiet space, putting away the picture, and bellowing at God, “I did it right! I followed the steps! You didn’t care!”

During a dream, my siblings and I were in Dad’s car (the one he gave away) a Model T. We were our current ages except for Betty. She was like the picture I had used to pray. She was wearing her favorite gray suit and matching hat with the soft petal pink trim. The hat had little seed pearls on the edge and she was wearing a seashell pin with pink pearls in it and her favorite gray suede shoes. She began giving all of us pieces of her outfit. We begged her not to pull off the pearls and asked that she not give them to us. She was so radiantly pretty! She said, “You don’t understand. Where I am there is so much more than this and I want these to remind you.” End of dream. God’s comfort. I cry every time I relate this story. I have to assure people they are not sad tears nor grief tears but comfort tears.
In 1984, Dave and I attended a Cursillo, which is a retreat of renewal for believing Christians. We were sponsored by our previously mentioned mentors Jack and Gail. They saw our belief but realized we could be living such full lives in Christ if we would relax and let God lead. Thank you, God, for Jack and Gail! The weekends spent by first Dave and then me, changed our walk with God into an active dynamic thing. Were we still getting a lot wrong? Oh, my! I wish I could say God snapped His fingers and we figured out how to live on this planet. We began to serve. We served on future Cursillo teams. Dave was approached to serve on a Kairos Team which presents the same type of retreat to non-believing and believing inmates in prison. Helen joined in those teams with Dave six months later and eighteen months later they tricked me into coming along. Another blog.

My prayers were becoming more natural but remained sporadic. If there was something to pray for I did. If I didn’t think of anything, I didn’t pray. Then Iran took prisoner people from America, United Kingdom and Canada. For some reason still surprising to me, I felt I was supposed to pray for them. I bought a notebook, wrote down the name of every prisoner and prayed at least weekly but often daily for them. I made notes about news updates on their existence and recorded deaths. When the last prisoner was released, I thanked God and closed the notebook. No more prayers as specific or prolonged came to me.

Praying for the Iran prisoners was also teaching me to pray more wholeheartedly for family. By this time I had adopted a routine of Adoring God, Confessing what I saw as sin, Thanking God, and Supplicating Him for what I needed (wanted?). I admit my lists of wants and needs were longer than the rest – sometimes there was absolutely no sin whatsoever to confess! God wants me to place a disclaimer here that was not His opinion but mine alone.

As the crises of day to day living rose and fell, I prayed. I discovered that writing letters to God in a journal helped me to stay focused on my praying and helped me to look back and see answers. By this time our children were teens and a lot of my prayers just tell God how tired I was. Life was busy and I was trying to balance full time “wifing”, full time mothering, full time housekeeping, and full time secretarial duties as well as fit in an in-depth Bible study and prison ministry. There seemed to be no part time anything in my life. Give me a radial bra and call me Wonder Woman! I was physically, emotionally, and spiritually exhausted from a treadmill of my own making. To Marc who felt my lack of control the most, I apologize and ask his forgiveness. His once very firm child-like faith began to waver.

Eleanor was a lovely little woman who attended our church. She believed and acted on prayer as a conversation with God about anything and everything. When a youngster fell or bumped or had pain of any kind, Eleanor would sit down so she was at their level. Rather than kissing the cut or bruise, she prayed with them. I thought she was wonderful. There was no way I would ever be able to do that.

When Helen experienced three seizures in one day, the doctors diagnosed it as seizure syndrome. They were admitting there was no logical reason for it to happen but sometimes the brain halves trade neurons which then misfire because they are now on the wrong side of the brain. (Over simplified explanation) Medication controls the seizures, but Helen’s memory dropped her high school and a lot of her college years. The medication interferes with short term memory and sometimes garbles her speech (but that is also a form of dyslexia our family on both sides bequeaths to descendants). I wrote a final entry in my journal. “I don’t understand, God. Goodbye!” I didn’t give up God, just corresponding with Him for a time.

When I became a secretary at a church, I learned prayer isn’t mine to decide if it was answered positively, negatively or even at all. Prayer is mine to speak. Prayer is a gift to God. Prayer is a time to listen to see if God is showing an insight to Scripture, taking a next step, or giving comfort. Prayer belongs to God, and is important for living through the junk this world hands out. I became a grandmother at about the same time so prayer took on a whole new meaning. Just having one of my grand babies put their hand in mine was a time for rejoicing. A smile lit up my life. A giggle transformed my blues to thankfulness. Because God was helping me, most of the calls from strangers seeking a church, a place to belong, or knowingly seeking God were transferred to me. I began to learn that the voice on the other end of the phone connection often needed someone to pray with and for them. I learned to ask: “May we pray about that right now?” Even though I would carefully explain I was not a pastor and would gladly have a pastor contact them, there could be repeat calls. Sometimes they would ask for Pastor Judy. I would explain again, but God helped me to spend time with them and still get my duties completed on time.

Now, I know that God was gifting me with the ability to answer a request for prayer with an immediate prayer. I have often told people they don’t need to tell me what’s going on if they are not ready to talk about it. All they have to do is ask me to pray. God knows the particulars and I don’t have to know them. He will be faithful to care for the concerns of the person prayed for. I receive e-mails from friends and the only thing in the e-mail is the word “PRAY” in the subject line. I pray. If I receive an e-mail with a request to pray for someone, I return a prayer within 24 hours.

Recently, I went back through the prayers I wrote when Helen fought her battle with ovarian cancer. You talk about pouring your heart out. There were requests in there that were so panic filled even reading them now, hurts. As I read through them, I used different color ink to write the answers and give thanks. Again, God superseded my imaginings for the outcome. He gave comfort when I forgot to ask for it. He gave us laughter to share when fear would have been Satan’s tool to cripple us. Oh, how very faithful was and is our God!

Don’t you dare put a halo over my head or a crown of jewels surrounding my brow! I am so human and earth bound and faulty I don’t make it minute by minute without hurting someone’s feelings, saying the wrong thing, and passing a need without stopping to help. Dave and I had an argument in the not too distant past. I was so mad at him I was inarticulate for one of very few times in my life. I sat down with my pen and paper and I told God every single thing that was wrong with His idea of answered prayer. I broke two pens holding them too tightly (for which I filled a couple paragraphs about faulty pens when I found one that was stronger). I was disrespectful, dishonoring, and in the throes of a tantrum to end all tantrums. When I was done I was exhausted. I sat for a bit feeling released but shamed. I started to read through the prayer. I began to see my ranting for what it was. I was taking my own fears, sins, angers and smallness and blaming Dave for the way I was feeling. I could almost hear God using one of Dave’s favorite questions, “So how’s that workin’ for ya?” I scribbled apologies, confessions and asked forgiveness all over my diatribe. Then I took it out of my binder and shredded it I wrote another prayer wrapped in gratefulness and thanksgiving. I asked God to bless both Dave and me in spite of our angry hurtful words to each other. I apologized to Dave and asked his forgiveness.

When Bett was very small we had a wet, heavy snowfall of about an inch and a half. We put on her new boots which were the first she had owned and were heavy for her little feet. We began walking up her street. We thrilled to the fresh air, the wet snow still falling, and the footprints we were making. I was walking just a step ahead of her when this little voice came from behind me, “Heavy walkin’!” I looked at her seeing the wet snow clinging to her new boots weighing heavily on her little kegs. I asked if she wanted to be carried. She didn’t want that but she asked me to “take a hand”. I did and she persisted. Sometimes prayer is like that. We are supposed to persist, but we are also supposed to “take a hand”. Paul tells us in the Bible that the Holy Spirit of Jesus will give us such a help. Romans, Chapter 8, verse 26 says, In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express (New International Version 1984).

If you have been struggling with prayer, I pray you will find some comfort in knowing you are not the only one. I cannot pretend to tell you how to get around the obstacle to prayer in your life, but God can and will. Just be willing to pray. Open your heart, your mind and your mouth and go for it! You cannot possibly do worse than my pickle prayer and your may be so gifted as to do so much better than my largest effort. I can guarantee that when you pray you learn so much about yourself that was hidden from you. You will be saddened by some of what you learn; but learning it will open new doors to walking closer to God. You will be overjoyed to learn other bits and pieces; just don’t get to feeling smug about the good stuff for that is Christ in you not you.

I’ll be praying for you!