Prayer, it basically works

Well, I did it again. I did all the laundry. To have this happen twice in my life, and in such a short span of time, is shocking, Shocking! I was lifting up my phone to take a picture, a beautiful golden instagrammed picture, and then I remembered that it was Ash Wednesday and that very morning I had lain in bed for nearly half an hour begging God for a measure of something. Strength? The ability to face the mountain? Solace from grief? All of those things. “I can’t do it, I cried,” though not out loud so as not to wake the children. “I can’t deal with everything. Or anything.” And then I got up and faced it down, walking my weary way among the piles of reds and darks and whites and marveling how I was still managing to carry on even though I had been so sure I couldn’t even start.

I do so recommend this kind of praying, this flinging oneself down on the mercy of God in failure, exhuastion, and despair and begging him to do something, anything, because you don’t have anything left to give. Having now given up and done it for about six months, I can’t say enough about it. Sure, other, less pathetic prayer is good. It is good, for instance, to pray down the list of people who have asked for prayer (my current list is about 35 strong), and its good to pray for the world, and it’s good to pray for things you want. It’s good to pray in an orderly methodical way. It’s good to pray with other people. Prayer of all kinds is good (that’s my technical theological word) and all the kinds should all be part of the fabric of a life lived with prayer. But, after the last many many many weeks, I’ve come to feel about those kinds of prayer that they are like icing, or a bucket of candy. Really nice. But who knows if God will answer them. I’m sorry, I meant to say, Of Course God will answer them, cough, but how will you ever know. Probably you will not ever have a clue about God’s provident response for those people and situations. For example, every time it starts to snow, I pray for creature comforts for Christian refugees in the Middle East. “Oh God,” I mutter, “let there be enough blankets. Let there be a way to hang something beautiful to look at. Let it be easy to boil water for coffee and tea. Let cooking be a solace and a pleasure. Let there be a way to do laundry without trauma. And let there be lots and lots of heat.” And so on and so forth. I pray these things, of course, because, unlike other people, I am very holy. (Don’t comment about how that’s not true, or, if you feel you must, make the comment look like spam so that I will accidentally trash it.) I think all this praying is good and right, but it’s out there, far removed, maybe God will listen and answer.

But the prayer with my face in my pillow, between the time Matt sets down the tea tray and when the first three children climb into my bed and I am forced to flee in anger and rage from all the wiggling, that is a prayer I can know if God has heard. If I was a mega church pastor’s wife, I would call it the Jonah Prayer. Oops, I mean, The Prayer of Jonah. And I would make a million bucks fancying it up. Chapter One, fall down helplessly onto your bed. Word Count: 35,000. Wait? How many words will people read in a first chapter? Never mind. You can have it here for free. Step Two, cry out, Help! Step Three, stand up and see that the Lord has helped you stand up. That’s it. It’s not rocket science, or brain surgery. Any fool, any lonely fool, every overwhelmed, tired fool can pray this prayer.

And God, when you pray it, immediately hears you. There is a basic and practically immediate response. Where you weren’t standing before, now you stand. Where you weren’t working before, yay for you, now you find yourself working. Or, in my case, actually doing the laundry. So today, to actually clean the children’s rooms now that they are mucked out. If you want to put me on your list, I promise to let you know how God comes through for me.