To need more two-kneed lessons

Nate and I talked about prayer for a while tonight.  We didn't come up with any groundbreaking or earth-shattering (redundant) new philosophies or insights or theological nuggets, but it was encouraging in a couple ways.  It was a reminder that my friends are thinking many of the same thoughts I am, and it was hopefully a foreshadow of further discussion and improvement among our thoughts and participation regarding prayer both individually and as a family of Christ.

Even though the majority of my thoughts simply remain in my own head, I am aware that a great number of them are similar and in the same direction as others around me.  I think it sometimes unfortunate that I am not one to often discuss the heaviest things on my heart with others.  This, however, I don't view as something I necessarily need to change or improve on, but something that I rather enjoy at times which allows me the easier opportunity to more slowly think myself through things and digest slowly and vaguely rather than in a rushed gulp.  At the same time, it is often rewarding to talk about things like prayer with people I know because it is one way which can strengthen connection and understanding and, perhaps most importantly, serve as a means of support which is crucial to us as fallible and frail human beings whose God does not sit in the flesh next to us on the couch.

Prayer, I believe, is crazy and important: crazy important.  I think prayer is ridiculous: it's the one aspect of our religion that is not tangible.  We're talking, or even thinking, to a non-human, an extraterrestrial, an invisible, a past, present, and future, and a GOD.  Any secular person can sing or give money to worthy causes or be nice to people or read the Bible or meditate or sacrifice their lives for others or wander and wonder and wish, but talking to thin air is something people have been institutionalized for.  Yet, prayer is one of the highest honors afforded us.  We, pitiful weakling sinners in the eyes of all our universal watchers, still are blessed with conversation with God.  I'm sure they wonder why we neglect to do it more frequently, or why we have so many questions about whether it's "working" or not, or why we have trouble getting past the pleases and thank yous of our meager prayers.  Prayer is so noble and powerful.  We call some men and women "prayer warriors."  And for good reason.  It takes sacrifice and strength and discipline and perseverance and stoutness of heart and blind faith and that first step to be able to be assured that our prayers are heard, that we are praying "the right" thing, that we will be spoken back to, that there is even a reason for asking something of or telling something to the Omnipotent One who knows all and does all.  The dialogue of prayer is a noble, but difficult, concept.

Perhaps I am a Thomas.  These days I want to see God's reassurance that my prayers are actually prayers.  I want to know that the effort I put into keeping my words few, into thinking of others, in mustering up that mustard seed of faith while I pray is different than just talking to myself and going through the day's possible scenarios in my head.  Having reassurance and encouragement from friends is good.  And I want more.  Will God wait to give me more recognizable answers or responses until after I've furthered my understanding of how this prayer thing works?  Am I being too selfish to expect and wish that my prayers made a difference or that God is supposed to hear and answer me?  Am I treating prayer like a monologue exercise that eventually will get me the results I want?  I know there are other minds and hearts with similar entreaties.  I am scared to challenge myself with committing more time in discovering this weapon and pillow of prayer.  It seems to be only the best of men, only the most sacrificial, only the most pious and the most loving and the most noble of men who ever receive the covetable title of prayer warrior.  And it seems only the most faithful, the most innocent and submissive ever receive that elusive peace that passeth understanding.  Will I ever make the cut?



What are the right questions to ask?




God is good.  I know that full well.  He knows where I sit and when I rise and the words that will roll off my dangerous little tongue.  He has searched me and He knows me.  And I believe, I fully believe, that He will ever guide me in the way everlasting.  It's just - it seems that journey requires being a God to completely understand.