Prayer and Breathing

In case you have missed it, there is quite a controversy at Wheaton College, a place near and dear to my heart. It has been heavy on my heart because of the hateful backlash, some of it aimed at my brother, and because many of the arguments feel to me like an attack on God himself, and that breaks my heart.

I am not here to debate the issues. Smart people say it is complicated and nuanced, and just because the heart of the issue seems very un-complicated to me does not mean that I am right. But the whole thing has taught me a lot about prayer.

When I am so burdened by something that it distracts me from my work or wakes me up at night, I can either fret and worry, or I can pray. At times like this prayer becomes so constant it's like breathing. Sometimes all I pray is "Lord, have mercy, have mercy." Sometimes I pray for specific things, but as I've gotten older my prayers are a lot less about what I think ought to happen, or what I want to happen, and a lot more "your will be done." You see, I've experienced enough of life to realize that God's ways are always best. No exceptions. Even when his ways are devastating this side of heaven. And I know that he always answers the prayer "your will be done."

I see the nuances of life and realize that in every single situation I am concerned about--even the ones that are about me--I don't know all the information. But God does. So I can trust him to know what to do. Prayer for me is like climbing into God's lap and handing my worries and problems back to him. Sure, I ask him to show me if there is something I need to do, either to be an instrument in fixing the problem or to take care of myself so I can sense his love for me. But pretty much, for me these days prayer is me saying, "God, this seems like a big thing to me. Can you fix it in your way? And make my thoughts and priorities concerning this matter match yours."

More specifically, I pray God things. Help the people involved to grow in grace, unity, love, and all the other fruits of the Spirit mentioned in Scripture. Help us to trust you more. Help us to grow. Redeem this situation so that you are glorified. Don't let Satan win this one. Let truth win, whatever the truth is. These things God loves to answer. And these are things that Christians on both sides of any disagreement ought to be able to pray together. We're all on God's side, right? So we all want his purposes to prevail. Let's pray for that.

I've also noticed my prayers are a little less impatient than they used to be. Nothing is an emergency or a surprise to God. I'd love to see every problem resolved on my timetable, but I see more and more that sometimes the waiting and the struggle are the point. In this particular case, I think many more people are fervently praying for Wheaton than were a month ago. And that's a good thing. So while I'd love to see this resolved now--like, this minute please--I'd even more love to let God do his thing. And sometimes that takes a while.

So I'm settling in, getting comfortable on God's lap, and planning to stay here for the duration. Won't you join me?

The Couples' Prayer Challenge

I'm going to let you in on a dirty little secret: Although I am very happily married to a man who is a strong spiritual leader in our home, we haven't prayed together very often in our 13 years of marriage other than at meals or with our kids before bed. We didn't think we liked to pray together. Life is too busy. We get up at different times. We stay up too late. We have good intentions to pray together, but they never quite materialize.

But when you teach an adult Sunday school class, every now and then you have to challenge yourself to establish new spiritual disciplines. Well, actually, you have to constantly challenge yourself. And so, two weeks ago my husband stood in front of our adult community and issued a challenge: pray with your spouse 5 days a week for 6 weeks, for a total of 30 days. The 30-day Prayer Challenge. Starting with us.

So for the last almost three weeks I've gotten up about 45 minutes earlier than usual (not because we pray for 45 minutes, but to be up before the kids), my husband has put on a pot of coffee so I could keep my eyes open, and we've prayed together. It's been a challenge, but not as big of a challenge as we anticipated. Here's what I've learned.

1) We actually like to pray together. It's not hard and the time goes by quickly. And now that the habit is established, I think we'll be more likely to pray about issues we're concerned about instead of just discussing them.

2) It helps a lot to have something specific to pray for. My husband has been putting together a prayer guide for each week, but here's one you could try if you want to try your own prayer challenge:

Monday--pray for your kids

Tuesday--pray for your church (ministries, church leaders, people in your small group, church members who are ill, etc.)

Wednesday--pray for missionaries you know or support and/or children you sponsor

Thursday--pray for each other and your various roles and activities

Friday--pray for national and international issues you're concerned about (legislation, national leaders, persecuted church, etc.)

3) Starting a new habit like praying together only works if you set the goal together. If I had decided this would be a good thing to do and dragged my husband along for the ride, I think it would've last about one day. And it's even better if you're in a community where other couples are praying together too.

4) It's a lot easier for me to concentrate on prayer when I'm praying with someone else. It eliminates distractions to speak and listen in prayer.

5) I've learned new things about my husband and about prayer. I've glimpsed facets of his priorities and desires through what he prays for that I wouldn't hear in ordinary conversation. He prays for different things and in different ways than I would, and there's much to be learned from those differences.

6) There's nothing in the world as encouraging to me as being prayed for by my husband. I hope he feels the same way when I pray for him.

7) Getting up early is a good thing. It helps me face the day feeling more on top of things and ensures that I get my Bible reading in before the kids start running wild. Unfortunately I seem to need to relearn this lesson every couple of months.

I'm so glad my husband issued this challenge. I don't know how many other couples in our Sunday school class are still going strong at the halfway point, but if nothing else has come out of it, I'm thankful that we're praying together regularly during this busy spring season.

The Worry Cure

I remember as a teenager studying Proverbs 31 and marveling, even then, at the verse that says the godly woman "laughs at the time to come." I've always been a worrier. I came by it honestly, the child and grandchild of worry-ridden dutchmen from the farm. The ability to look into the future with carefree laughter is something I aspire to. And fail at.

So I was particularly struck by this passage in Paul E. Miller's A Praying Life today.

"What does an unused prayer link look like? Anxiety. Instead of connecting with God, our spirits fly around like severed power lines, destroying everything they touch. Anxiety wants to be God but lacks God's wisdom, power, or knowledge. A godlike stance without godlike character and ability is pure tension. Because anxiety is self on its own, it tries to get control. It is unable to relax in the face of chaos. Once one problem is solved, the next in line steps up. The new one looms so large, we forget the last deliverance."

I often feel like that severed power line, lashing out at those closest to me in frustration and anger because I feel like things are out of control. I'm worried about getting it all done, or worried about money, or worried about my children's future, and so I try to control something--most often my children or my circumstances. But it doesn't work. And not only have I made myself and those around me miserable, I've also missed out on the opportunity of that "unused prayer link."

Every now and then I have a lucid moment when I think about the fact that I can't control these things anyway, and I try to pull myself together and stop being anxious. But that doesn't work either. It's kind of like telling yourself not to think about purple elephants--suddenly all you can think about is purple elephants.

Miller ends the chapter with these words:

"When you stop trying to control your life and instead allow your anxieties and problems to bring you to God in prayer, you shift from worry to watching. You watch God weave his patterns in the story of your life. Instead of trying to be out front, designing your life, you realize you are inside God's drama. As you wait, you begin to see him work, and your life begins to sparkle with wonder. You are learning to trust again."

That's what I want--a life that sparkles with wonder. And I think Miller is right that the way in is the way of prayer. Admitting my utter helplessness and turning all my concerns over to the only one who has the power to do anything about them. When I utter those prayers of surrender, suddenly my problems seem manageable and I realize that they are under control. Not under my control, but under God's control. Which is a good thing, because he's much better at managing things than I am!

This day I will not tell myself not to worry about my schedule or about the children or about the things we need or about the decisions we face. But I will pray about them. I will take all my anxious, jumbled thoughts before the throne of grace, and there I will find mercy to help me in my times of need.

Desperate Times

I always wanted to have a lot of kids. Babies are so delicious and wonderful that I kept wanting one more. When I had four kids, I was constantly looking around to see if we had them all, as if one was missing even when all four were there. And so we ended up with five kids. Not a huge family, but pretty big. And I love it, most of the time. After all, this is what I always wanted.

The thing is, though, I like calm and neat. Peace and quiet. Order. Moments alone with a book and a cup of coffee. Which is pretty impossible with five kids, even when they are good kids. Five kids make a lot of messes. Five kids in a smallish house are hard to keep organized. They make a lot of noise. They have a lot going on, and it's hard to keep track of all that they are supposed to do and all the places they are supposed to be. The mess and the schedule and the pace of life are overwhelming.

And I have to say that a lot of days I don't handle it very well. I go to the kitchen, see the dishes of five kids all out on the counter, and start to clean them up. I can handle this. And then I notice the grimy mess someone left under their chair. So I start to clean that up, slightly less cheerful than when I came into the kitchen. And then I notice that there is peanut butter smeared on the chair leg about two inches from the floor. How in the world did they get that there? And so I clean that up too, and by this point I'm seething inside. Why doesn't anyone dean up after themselves, just a little bit? Do they honestly not see the trail of stuff they leave in their wake, or do they just not care that they are leaving it for me to clean up?

I've just come from the bedroom the three girls share, and even with my supervision they have managed to turn five minutes' worth of cleaning into half an hour of my nagging and their seeming blindness to the things that are out of place. Sometimes I despair of their learning basic responsibility, let alone ever being able to manage a household of their own.

But I think the bigger issue here is my own sinfulness. Why do I get so impatient? Why do I yell at them, so angry at the childishness of these children? Why is my agenda more important to me than their feelings? Why can I not slow down just a bit and offer them more understanding, more compassion?

These are the questions I ask myself numerous times each year. I have weeks where everything is going pretty well and I am cheerful and reasonable even in the face of chaos and mess and being pulled in a million different directions. And then I have several weeks in a row of utter frustration. Days when I call my husband and ask if he can please come home now before I kill one of the children. Moments when I realize that I am probably capable of injuring my children if I don't get away from them right now. Nights when I vow in the silent hours after bedtime that tomorrow will be better, and then I wake up the next morning and blow up at the first frustration I face. Quiet conversations where my husband tells me (in the nicest possible way) that I really need to get a grip. Dark hours when I realize that I'm simply not up to the task of mothering these children. I cannot take one more tantrum, one more mess, one more forgotten homework assignment, one more obstinate piano practice session.

And at those helpless moments, I think God is saying to himself, "Oh good, she's finally realized she needs me." I am a desperate, broken sinner in need of saving every moment. The truth is, I can't do this mothering thing. It's not my imagination: the demands of life are impossible. But with God all things are possible.

Those weeks where everything is going pretty well and I'm mostly cheerful? Those are the weeks I've been praying. Praying for my children, praying for myself, simply crying out "Daddy, Daddy" to my heavenly father in those moments when I can't go on. I only wish that it didn't take desperate moments for me to remember to climb back into my heavenly Father's lap.

The Contemplative Life

Yesterday I had an idea that today would be a good day to think and write about being more contemplative this year. I'd love to slow down, to think more, to pray more, and to live more in the moment this year. Maybe I'm searching for an area to focus on this year, a resolution beyond the goals I make (and usually break) each year. I think we all need more quiet in our lives, whether we consciously realize it or not.

And then I read this quote:

"The quest for a contemplative life can actually be self-absorbed, focused on my quiet and me. If we love people and have the power to help, then we are going to be busy. Learning to pray doesn't offer us a less busy life; it offers us a less busy heart. In the midst of outer busyness we can develop an inner quiet. Because we are less hectic on the inside, we have a greater capacity to love...and thus to be busy, which in turn drives us even more into a life of prayer."--Paul E. Miller, A Praying Life 


Wow. He is so right. Some days I find myself thinking, if only I didn't have all these kids around all day, imagine how much I could get done! and then God's still, small voice reminds me, these kids are my job! They are not interruptions keeping me from more important things on my to-do list, they are the top thing on my to-do list. Life with 5 kids and a freelance job and friends is going to be busy. Life with one kid would be busy. So would life with a full-time job and no kids. There's no way around it. There are messes to clean up and deadlines to meet and social obligations to fulfill. There are people counting on us in one way or another.

But what I long for is a quiet heart in the midst of that. I don't need to fight the good busyness (although I do think there is a busyness I can put on myself that is full of things God hasn't put on my to-do list--more on that another time). I need to develop a quiet heart that will carry me through my busy days with grace and patience, that will leave me unruffled by the demands others place on me and unconcerned when I fail to meet their expectations.

I think the way in to that quiet heart is a journey into the heart of prayer. So as I look at the year ahead, the thing I want to work on is not finding more time for quiet or focusing on building a contemplative life, but prayer. Not quietness as an end in itself, but prayerfulness in the midst of busyness. And hopefully the outgrowth from that will be a quietness of heart that will bless those around me.