Pray without ceasing. What must that look like? Who does this? Is my mumbling to God through the thorns of my existence prayer? Or my too fast thanks that really wasn’t stated with substance, prayer? I vividly remember, in the cold winter nights, lying in my upstairs bedroom with no heat but the weight of four handmade quilts, wiggling to get warm, lips whispering out the prayer, “Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.” My soul appeared to be covered, but what about the rest of my drama life? Who was I giving that to?
Then I grow in my stubborn, independent self and stop praying all together because I’m too mature and wise for such things. I knew it all and what I didn’t know, I could stumble through and fake my way just enough to pass. My little inconveniences weren’t really meant for God to hear anyway, since He was busy dealing with world hunger and war and murders. He seemed to have enough on his plate. I dealt with my own issues, until crisis slammed into me. Now, I’m paralyzed. I’m angry, frustrated and even though I’ve never invested time into a relationship with God, apparently, I believe He does exist and can be present because I start talking all sorts of darkness. I’m no longer indifferent. I’m invested and spitting rebellion in my prayers. I want Him to know this is not a good plan. I’m too young for this adult crisis. I’m barely passing high school, am spontaneous, have immersed all of my being into social fun, producing no growth, just fun. And now you want me to change what I know, to plan, invest, and produce something. No! That is not going to work. Do you see me? I’m in a reduced, life sucking, time limiting space! Moving forward in measured steps is completely foreign. I’m sixteen! My heat prayers spilled all over the place. Sometimes, I sobbed, still mad, but sobbed. It was a slow giving up process. Sometimes, I spewed hot anger and I’m sure God flinched. And sometimes, I saw hope. It was in the hope that I could step outside of my former free, life-loving self and become a fresh, charging forth, enduring, drastically aware of the preciousness of life encourager. I was gaining purpose.
Now I’m off to college, where I met Jesus, in a new way, a freeing way, the Jesus that doesn’t hold me under rules, but rather frees me with His sacrifice. And I begin to soak in all of the formal ways to pray. Have you heard of ACTS? Adoration, Confession, Thanksgiving, Supplication. For years I tried to master the scholastic formula, always feeling guilty for forgetting a step or spending too much time on asking and not on adoring, so I abandoned it; way too much intentionality. If anything, I’d just thank Jesus for whatever. I couldn’t go wrong with simple praise, right? Another breaking point hits. I cry out, I ask, I hurt, I plead, I say things I regret the minute they spill out of my mouth. I imagine God listening, strumming his fingers on a table, waiting for me to relent and release. I search His words to me, the Bible, and slowly peace resolves and torture withdraws. He’s a steady eddie, this God of ours, never changing, and always hope. Rest seeps into my thinking. I thank Him. I recognize His greatness, and that greatness being drawn into a tangible, flawed me. I thank Him again. I trust His goodness, am sorry for my obstinance, and conclusion jumping, and panicked reactions. I ask Him to take charge, again, because I seem to train wreck it every time.
And so begins the circle of prayer. Noticing His hand coloring sunrises and sunsets, orchestrating family cohesiveness, introducing you to vacation, revealing beautiful people, accentuating true joy, leaving you the last cookie in the jar. We notice, and we give thanks. We don’t give thanks because God needs to hear it. We give it as an acknowledgement of who we see God as, what we see God in, how we see God working. He revels in this communication. With our hearts brimming with gratitude, we know that we know who He is. Crisis will happen again. We will hurt and cry out and be furious. Let Him hear that too, as it brings complete authenticity. I imagine Him saying ‘Give it to me, all of it, keep talking, read my word, hear me loving you.’
So, this is where I’m at. What does pray without ceasing look like? Yes, sometimes it’s a thought out ACTS list because He really is that deserving, but sometimes it’s a mumble of ‘help’ or a laughter of acknowledgement or a stream of ‘whews’. Prayer is a door wide open of reports, and bulletins, cries and pain, blessing and wonderment, trusting our God above is relishing in our love for Him. Prayer keeps our mind intentional, not on our doing but on His doing. Just pray, in the car, in the shower, at the dinner table, during a meeting, out loud, in your head, whatever. It’s not a formula, it’s an ever flowing ribbon of connectedness. See what God does. Just pray.
1 Thessalonians 5:17
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