Today's topic, a time where you were so lost that prayer was all you could manage, as when Jesus prayed in the garden before being betrayed by his disciples.
I suspect the stock answer to this question should involve the death of a loved one or other comparable personal tragedy, but in my case, all the death I have experienced in my lifetime came before I considered prayer a viable option. While I was taught to pray for those I loved as a child, the older I got the less of a habit it became until finally prayer left my routine altogether. It just didn't feel necessary to me. What do my thoughts matter in the grand scope of the world. A grain of sand on an endless beach, perhaps? I'd wager even less than that.
Fast forward to Christmas 2011 and a promise I made to my wife to give church and religion an honest, open minded shot. Fast forward again, a year later when I stood before my congregation, new friends and family and proclaimed myself a believer. Now prayers mattered to me. God mattered to me, and that assured me he was listening. Fast forward to now. I feel I can hold a wide open conversation with my Lord about anything that's on my heart; good, bad, weird, or embarrassing doesn't matter. He loves me, and as long as I honor him he's listening.
Now, when was I so far off the reservation that all I could draw on was prayer? The 1st week of August 2013. Days earlier I had been in a T- bone car accident. My Jeep Cherokee had been the hammer, and a pale blue Dodge Neon, the anvil. My 7 month old daughter was riding in the back seat, and while we had walked away without a scratch, both vehicles were bound for the compactor. Big deal you might think, at least you were safe. You can always replace things, right? Sure you can, but when you lose things, a bit of you goes with them. I had bought my Jeep just prior to high school graduation in May 2003. Do the math, and my ride was a decade under my command. How long have you had yours? I had repaired it, changed its oil, tires, O2 sensor, and headlights, with my bare hands. It carried scrapes, scratches, and dings from all the adventures it had taken me on across 5 states. I felt more comfortable in the driver's seat than I do in my bed. The interior smelled of mulch, flowers, stone and sweat, and I loved it. That Jeep was my transportation, my armor, and an extension of my own personality. I called her Mags, and on the last Thursday of July 2013, I stood by and watched her die at the entrance to a retirement village after saving mine and my baby's life. With that image in your mind, tell me again how you can always replace things. Mags was not a thing, she was a friend.
A week later I was driving home from Sunday night dinner in a borrowed Toyota Camry. Nothing felt right, nothing smelled right. I was a pilot without his ship, and I felt lost. I began crying freely as the weight of the week's events crashed down on me. I called to God for an explanation, for comfort, and for mercy. I thanked him for my life and my daughter's. I understood this was all part of His plan that I never get to see, and couldn't possibly comprehend. I asked for direction and opportunity to go forward with my life however he saw fit. I was prepared to give all control over to him. Free will be damned! It took 22 minutes to get from my in laws' driveway to my own, and I rose out of the uncomfortable and unfamiliar Camry feeling somehow different. The cathartic, ranting had left me exhausted in all sense of the word, but the stress and apprehension I'd been carrying were almost non existent. God was listening and he took my fear from me that night. I gave my control and trust to Him, and He answered with comfort and mercy. I slept better on August 4th than I had in days.
No comments:
Post a Comment