Help For Those On The Front Lines Of Ministry.

Past Updates

Jan 24, 2005
Prayer; Mystery and Passion

A week ago our son was nearly killed in a skiing accident. What was a terrible traumatic event for him was a journey back to prayer for me.

Prayer, like God, is a mystery to me. I have long known God is not going to be manipulated by any human effort or caprice. “God is God and I am not”, as Mr. Chapman sings so eloquently.

But…pray I did. And I enlisted everyone I could to pray. I called, emailed, phoned all the connections I have with church leaders, prayer warriors, radio stations, as well as the people right next door. Some really do pray.

Did it help? I think that is the wrong question. Perhaps a better question is “what will we all grow through this?”

Since I can’t manipulate God, I can do what I can do. I can call attention to a plight God already knows about. I can, like the widow before the unjust judge, keep hounding God. As I said, I don’t understand prayer. I don’t understand God. I don’t understand life. I know some of the rules. I have tried to live against the rules and have suffered. I have seen the consequences of my life when I tried to live against the rules. But one of the rules seems to be “ask and keep on asking…seek and keep on seeking…knock and keep on knocking… every one who asks will receive, everyone who seeks will find, and everyone who knocks the door will be open.” (Matthew 6)

So like a fool I have been asking, seeking, knocking. Not as if God isn’t aware. Not as if God doesn’t care. More as if I don’t understand why these things happen. I don’t understand why children die, in accidents, in fires, in war, in tsunami’s, in skiing accidents, in their sleep...the list goes on. No, I ask because I hold two opposing things in my mind—the unexplainable thing we call life and the unexplainable thing we call God, who demonstrates and show us love, beauty, purpose, as well as pain, sorrow and death—all in this first unexplainable thing called life.

So I pray. Does it help? Ever the practical person. Oh its been a week. Our son is home, healing, recovering. You can watch him get better every day. Who saved his life? The helmet we forced him to wear? The paramedics on the mountain? The Doctors in the hospitals? The great physical shape he had worked himself into? His age? God?

Yea, God! So I pray.

Would I pray this way if he had died? No. I would be too angry for the first year or two or three. But that is me, and not who God is. God would be there waiting for me to pray again.

In the mystery of life, I will keep asking, seeking, and knocking. You too?