Memory Monday: Prayer

Me and Daddy

MY PRAYERS

            I have struggled with prayer for years.  The words did not come easily—well they came, but often there did not seem to be much depth to them.  More and more, I would catch myself praying just for things I needed or wanted.  I would remember the verse about “prayer…with thanksgiving,” so I would thank God for what He had given me.  And it always seemed that I finished the prayer with “And thank You for Jesus,” followed by the closing, “InJesus’nameAmen.”  (Those words ALWAYS had to be at the end of a prayer or it didn’t seem like a proper prayer.)

            I grew up in a family where prayer was offered before every meal.   But when I think about those prayers, one thing stands out.  From my earliest memory to the day my daddy had a major heart attack, he always said the same prayer at mealtimes.  He never varied a word, and as a little child the prayer became a ritual—bow my head, fold my hands, wait for those exact words to be said, then I could eat.

            I think ritual pretty much sums up the way I learned to pray.  I even remember memorizing the “Now I lay me down to sleep” prayer as a child and using that at nighttime.

            Though the years, and even though I was a believer, I remained a child in my prayer life—bow my head at mealtime or at the assembly, and then, when the words were over, continue on.  At times when something horrible happened, I would pray for God’s help.  And sometimes when the beauty of the day or the wonder of my children filled my heart, I would offer a prayer of thanksgiving. 

            One day several years ago, something changed.  I can’t remember if the thought came from a song or something said in a sermon or lesson.  As I started to pray, I could see myself in the Throne Room of God.  I was before Him and at His right hand sat Jesus.  The glory and power that came from Him caused me to bow low. The words came, but they were different from any I had ever prayed before.  Words of honor and praise flowed out of me.  How could I not honor the God of all creation?  I had been invited into the presence of the One who had spoken the entire universe in to existence, yet knew the hairs on my head and the thoughts of my heart.  The prayer continued, not with my wants or needs, but with thanksgiving for Jesus, who stood with me as both redeemer and intercessor.  As the words of honor ended, I felt the love of my Heavenly Father surround me and the pain of my heart opened up.  I reached out to God with worries, hurts and needs—for others and, at last, for me.  As my prayer ended, I did not want to leave that place, but God has given me a life to live and I want to live it for Him.

            I often go back to the Throne Room.  I am always amazed and humbled, brought low but loved, emptied and filled there.  At last, I commune with my God and Father.

(By the way, the prayers my daddy offered after his heart attack were very different.  He was often asked to lead prayers during the assembly on Sunday.  His words and the emotion in his voice when he honored his Creator and petitioned his God would bring tears to my eyes and many others around me.  Daddy loved and trusted God, and he finally learned to voice that love and dependency in public prayer.)