Some years ago over the period of many long months I was chronically anxious.
One morning I was running late for work and as I rushed to my car discovered much to my frustration my car keys were not where I always put them. I had never once mislaid them before so not being able to find them was especially troubling and I knew it was a sign of stressed scatter-brained thinking.
After frantically searching for the better part of an hour, I stopped to take a deep breath and shed a few tears. Need poured over me like a waterfall and I sank to my knees.
I sort of prayed. I asked for help finding my keys but mostly I simply declared defeat trying to deal with the circumstances in my life in my usual way.
Opening my eyes in preparation to call in to work with some lame excuse, I saw my keys. They must have dropped out of my coat pocket somehow wedging themselves between the chair slats and under the cushion.
I would never have seen those keys if I had not gotten down on my knees.
In A Praying Life, author Paul E Miller talks about cynicism Christians may feel about whether God hears our prayers. He notes too often we end our conversations with “I’ll keep you in my prayers” or “I’ll remember you in prayer” but never get around to praying, that too often we don’t think prayer makes much difference.
He continues that prayer is confusing and asks questions most of us wonder. Can you pray for what you want? And what’s the point of praying if God already knows what you need? It sounds like nagging.
Being on your knees is in a very real and spiritual sense a posture of humility and surrender. That prayer of admitting my need also quieted my anxious heart. I learned a new posture of prayer and in that moment He found me with an vulnerable and repentant heart and lifted me up.
This was certainly a very dramatic occasion but not the only time in those past years that I experienced prayer most certainly does make a difference. But what happens when the spiritual realm is silent while you struggle to pray?
For more than a year after my husband died, my prayers were a blend of gratitude and grief. While he was a believer all his life, during his sickness my husband experienced the comfort and peace from having a personal relationship with His Heavenly Father that he hadn’t had before. For the first time in our marriage we spent time in devotion and he asked often for me to pray with and over him.
Those memories that brought me deep gratitude and joy in prayer have begun to wane. Instead mundane daily routine invades my thought space and I have been finding it harder and harder to open my devotions. The tears of grief have waned as well but even so, I am also finding it harder to play praise music.
All those faith affirming and soul strengthening lessons from years past no longer seem to inspire or heal as before. I am still on my knees but there is this void that leaves me not knowing what to pray.
And so I am writing this blog.
