Unable to Pray

I walked carefully up the staircase lined with seated people. Bibles open, eyes closed, heads bowed. Each one pleading for a miracle. Yet making a painful choice of the will to surrender their deep desire for God to spare her life, to the mysteries of the One who gave her life.

In a matter of moments, the still, quiet corridor turned Doorway to Divinity, emphatic choruses flooding the Entrance.
Gutsy petitions boldly approaching the Throne of Grace.
Desperate souls running to the Mercy Seat, begging for her healing.

That afternoon, every inch of their home was an open invitation to prayer. {If I’m not mistaken, it’s the same southern home that still adorns Bible verses on the sheetrock and 2x4s in her handwriting.}

When I reached the upstairs, I began my time in her boy’s room. A sobering place to pray when you’re also a mom of a little boy right around his age. A moment when the challenges of life as a mom instantaneously became pale; invisible, really. And so my prayers joined alongside of hers to plead for the well-being of his tender heart and mind, come what may.

I then walked into their girl’s room, and sat on her dainty chair. And suddenly, I was a little girl, too. Crawling up, saddened, into my Father’s lap. All my uncertainties, all my fears, all in plain view. Feebly lifting my head to whisper a prayer into His ear, asking Him to cover this girl’s sweet soul in His strong grace.

After some time in her room, I came to the guest bedroom, my friend’s mom’s room at the time. Her mom was staying with their family to lighten the load, to walk by her daughter’s side during this cruel invasion of disease. And so I kneeled by her bed and prayed for her. For extra measures of Strength, and Grace, and Comfort. And for my friend's dad. And also her brother.

Then, I stepped into my friend and her husband’s bedroom . . .

At the time, I knew my friend’s husband was faithfully loving her through the extra mile of her disease. But it wasn’t until a couple years after this event when I watched my own husband carry the weight of the world on his shoulders during my own health crisis that I could even begin to appreciate the kind of deep, selfless love that my friend's husband had given her. And let me be clear: Our journey is of no comparison whatsoever to theirs. But it sure did open my eyes.

I sat down on the floor, leaned my back against the bed, and tried to pray.
And that’s when my wrestling began.

Given the gravity of my friend’s affliction, I was so overwhelmed I didn’t even know where to begin. I just knew that I was in deep anguish for her and her precious family. So I wanted my prayers to somehow carry a weight comparable to the massive weight of their circumstance. I desperately needed my prayers to be effective . . .

As I sat there on the floor wrestling through this with the Lord, He whispered to me.

Stop trying . . .

That wasn’t the first time He had offered those two words to me that weekend. Nor the first time I felt plagued by inadequacy. I longed to reach down to the core of my friend’s being and love on her in ways that would deeply minister to the depths of her beautiful soul. But I felt so very inadequate for the opportunity.

I heard those two words, and I stopped.
I stopped agonizing over my words.
I stopped trying to pray.

But that stopping, it only happened because of God’s mercy to me and His power. Because once I start trying hard to do something, it is incredibly difficult for me to NOT try. Usually feels near impossible.

Shortly thereafter, my Father began to lead me by the hand to pray. I don’t even remember what I prayed. But I remember that it was effortless.
Because it was all from Him, not from me.

That sacred afternoon in my friends’ home, God revealed to me that it’s not compelling words that make prayer effective and powerful. It’s the power of the Holy Spirit living and breathing through me, as I cry out to the Father with honest and desperate pleas.

God also reminded me that He is the only One who can reach into the depths of a soul and impact it in ways that human lives never can.
He is God. I am not.

Yes, He will sometimes choose to use me in the life of another. But my part is simply to make myself available. The rest is up to Him.

Just like I needed Jesus to save me from the power of my sin, so I also need Him daily to be my Power in living out this life.
Including when I pray.

“Jesus responds not to the eloquence of our prayers, but to our pain . . .
Our prayers may be awkward. Our attempts may be feeble. But since the power of prayer is in the One who hears it and not the one who says it, our prayers do make a difference."
– Max Lucado (He Still Moves Stones)

~ ~ ~

This piece was written in loving memory of my precious friend and sister in Christ, Tara. I am so grateful for the numerous ways that God worked powerfully through her life, and her testimony, to impact my life. And countless others'. It was a privilege to be called her friend.

Thank you to her closest loved ones who gave me the gift of their blessing to share how God continues to use her life, and her passing from this life to the next, to impact my own life.

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Image courtesy of Travis Silva