There was one thing I wanted from God. It was virtuous. It was honorable. It was good.
So I prayed. And I asked. And I exhorted.
And nothing happened.
Maybe He didn’t hear my prayer.
Maybe He didn’t care.
The prayer was for a miracle for someone else, for a change of heart and direction. I prayed boldly, after all we’re told that with “the faith of a mustard seed,” we can move mountains. I believed. But it didn’t happen. The Prodigal’s path continued and I there I stood at the door, the hollow knock still ringing in the air.
At first, I was angry. I was angry at others, because they didn’t help. I was angry at the counsel of fools. I was angry at God, feeling ripped off. After all, I had been taught that “prayers offered in faith” will result in miracles. Finally, I was angry at myself. What a fool I had been to even bother to ask.And then I began to examine myself. Was it because I was flawed? Was it because I didn’t have enough faith, or understanding? Was it because I had been disobedient? Was I selfish in my request? Maybe it was me?
Then, as the soothing waters cooled the situation, I began to breathe, think, and remember.
He has answered my prayers in the past. He’s been faithful. Through the unanswered prayer for a miracle, I learned about what made me tick, my weakness and strength.
Eventually I learned that in this particular case, my prayer was all wrong. Instead of praying for the other person to transform, I was the one who needed a miraculous change.
Maybe He heard me after all.