Prayer in the Field

Letters to Malcolm: Chiefly on Prayer, by CS Lewis
Progress: 56/124

It shouldn't be surprising that when one sets out to learn about prayer, opportunities for practicing prayer will reveal themselves with increasing intensity. On Sunday, it was my three-and-a-half-year-old son, R, with a gash on his forehead, just about to the bone. Without naming names, I prayed that God would let there be a "good" doctor on call - that is, not one of the mean or incompetent ones I've encountered there in the past. God answered favourably, and provided a very kind doctor, whom R dubbed the "Daddy Doctor," and who was so gentle in his manner that R fell asleep on the table even as he was being stitched up (four stitches, for those interested in such things).

Tuesday brought turmoil of a more personal nature, and in my despair I went for a walk. There, under cover of darkness and in the blessed privacy of stars and snowy fields, I yelled. I accused. I was even, momentarily, sarcastic. It was not a pious prayer, but it was honest, and I hope that, at least, honoured God in some way - that I didn't lie to His face (so to speak) and try to sound submissive when in fact I was feeling about as rebellious as a goody-two-shoes like me can get. Amazingly, after the drama, I walked home with a renewed sense of peace and trust.

Tuesday also brought the devastating earthquake in Haiti. I sat transfixed before the computer, assaulted by images of pain and suffering, and unable to turn my eyes or attention away for a very long time. It occurred to me later that tragedy of this magnitude should have rendered my own problems irrelevant, at least for a while, but it didn't. I just made room in my heart for more sadness. Eventually, I remembered to pray about Haiti, too, instead of just feeling sad but helpless.

Tuesday is also my Bible study preparation day, and so I read the first few chapters of Regent College professor and Vancouver pastor Darrell Johnson's book, Fifty-Seven Words That Change The World: A Journey Through The Lord's Prayer. I read about prayer a lot more than I prayed that day, for all my woes.

On Wednesday morning I drove to Bible study, and in the silence of my car, prayed the Lord's Prayer, for the first time really praying it, letting the words draw out of me the sadness, despair, and longing that needed to be given over to those fifty-seven words and the One who hears them.

In Bible study, I taught about prayer, as a blind person leading others who could surely lead the way more capably. At the end, I burst into tears, and heard the heartfelt and teary prayers of other women on my behalf. I experienced the solidarity and community of the body of Christ at that moment, after I had been more honest and vulnerable than I've ever been with them before.

On Wednesday night I had a phone appointment, which I had arranged before my week had begun to fall apart. I was tempted to cancel, as my specific reason for calling seemed moot in light of the recent events and I felt drained. But by God's grace I did call, and was ministered to by a friend and fellow-pilgrim who had previously walked a journey similar to the one upon which I am now travelling, stumbling and grumbling along the way. She prayed through a passage in Jeremiah with me, and I saw glimpses of myself and my situation in those words of Scripture. I felt solidarity with the exiles in Babylon. I ended the phone conversation with a renewed sense of my identity and of God's purpose and plan for me in light of (no longer in contrast to) that identity. I could breathe a little deeper. For a little while I experienced joy.

Thursday brought more turmoil, although a remnant of the peace and trust from my walk on Tuesday hovered nearby, protecting me from despair.

Friday allowed me some respite from my woes and I focused again on the more pressing needs and desperate suffering of Haiti. After a growing sense that more than my prayers were required in response to the catastrophe, I donated money to aid in the relief efforts, and set my mind to thinking what else might be done on behalf of the Haitians.

On Saturday, peace came to my home. Giving and receiving, hearing and understanding, dreaming and planning were the agents of that peace.

And all these, things, I believe, were fruits of the many prayers made by me and for me this week, a personal response from Our Father, who art in heaven.

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