So You Think You Can Pray
Growing up I remember gathering around the table in the living room; Dad, Mom, grandma and I bent over our bibles, ready for our end of day mini-church sesh. Dad usually led these, he’s always in charge of things. It started with singing some hymns from a little yellow book, then Dad telling us about the bible verse, that ‘ God has spoken’ to him, and he’d go on to preach a mini sermon for about 20ish minutes.
Me, barely able to read from the KJV bible at the time, just stared at Dad, admiring this man who hears from God, preaching about other men who heard from God, Moses, Abraham, Daniel -my heroes. Mom was much more the quiet type, she listened, she nodded in agreement, she read the verses when Dad asked someone to open a certain chapter, she loved him. Maybe even admired him just like I did.
After the sermon, what followed was the prayer. Grandma was the prayer warrior. With the most eloquent words, she would call heaven down to earth and at the same time throw insults at the devil. When she prayed I could almost be sure that she could see God sitting somewhere in this room, and she could see the devil peeing his pants, because how else could she speak with so much authority?
So we all kept our heads bowed, quiet except for Mom’s whispers of agreement, ‘Amen’ she would mumble under her breath as Grandma was declaring war on the devil, quoting scripture, rebuking disease and covering our house with the blood of Jesus, , calling angels by their names assigning them their duties and ordering them to stand guard at each of the four corners of the house. When she finished, one would almost feel compelled to give a standing ovation.
These are my earliest memories of prayer. Family-time, fierce grandma,low-key mom, hero dad and me, the little one, the one who always had one eye open, hoping to catch a sight of an angel in the room. How could everyone else keep their eyes closed?
Since then, a lot has changed. Me, I’m adulting now. I use word like ‘adulting’. I can read KJV, I’m almost done with college. Dad is almost Atheist now. I don’t know, when it changed or why, but we don’t gather in the living room anymore, because we don’t even live in the same house. Maybe he never saw that loving gaze from Mom as he preached, maybe he didn’t see my star-filled eyes looking at my hero, maybe he just needed his fierce mother to keep praying for him. But even fierce grandma couldn’t intimidate death. She passed away, in her bed, surrounded by her daughters. They said she asked for a glass of water, and after taking a sip she turned to the wall as if to sleep..I’m sure she was talking to God when it happened.
But, Mom is still Mom. I thank God for that constant. She never stopped being humble and quiet. She never stopped reading the chapters in her bible, she never stopped gathering herself, her disappointed, broken-hearted, her persevering self, I and my little sister to pray before bed. She never stopped.
I’ve had to pray for myself through out these years. It felt like everyone around me was overwhelmed by something so I figured if I didn’t do it, nobody will. At first, it was a show, a performance. I was ‘channeling’ my inner grandma. I’d pray looooong prayers, making sure not to leave anyone out, since of course they need me to pray for them, they are overwhelmed. It was a performance, I imagined God giving me the standing ovation. This became a problem when asked to pray in front of others, because, “What would they think of my performance?” So I resorted to practicing “mom’s style” . Quiet and reserved, a few words and utter surrender to God’s will. No orders given to angels, no rebukes, just, “God do what you want, what you please, in the end I know You take care of us and that You love us”. Sounds good. Sounds humble and something that would move God’s heart. It worked for a while, first because it was easy to say a few words in the morning and get on with my day, also because I knew that if anything goes wrong I could say, “God, You were supposed to be in charge” and avoid taking any responsibility. But this false humility was totally going against my nature, to say the least.
At a dark point in my life, I went almost 2 years without prayer. Just a slight “OMG OMG OMG , I’m freaking out.”, before college exams, or a first-date. I figured God is disgusted with me so why try to impress Him. I was so filled with shame that whenever I even attempted to pray instead of the standing ovation, I could imagine God rolling his eyes at me. So like Dad, I stopped trying. Like everyone, I was overwhelmed. I wandered off.
But even in the wilderness, God left the 99 and came to get me. After that, my first real prayer, while holding a cigarette on one hand, watching a Steven Furtick sermon on YouTube, my room only illuminated by the light from the computer screen, my first real prayer was, “ Thank You, Jesus” only accompanied by tears, and a cough from the smoke. I felt my heart open. Some other light came in. I was going to be okay.
So I found some lessons that I could learn from my first memories of prayer. From Dad I learn to be intentional. That I have to make time to pray, this is quality-time with God, not just hurriedly mumbling a few memorized lines. That I ,intentionally, have to create space and time to talk with God. Gather at the table. From Mum, I learn reverence. To come to God knowing He is The King, knowing the He holds my life in His hands, He calls the shots. Fear and trembling. If the King of the world was sitting right here, next to me, how would I speak to Him? From Grandma, I learn boldness. The boldness to live free and not weighed down by guilt or shame because Jesus made us holy and blameless. The boldness that comes from knowing that the Spirit that raised Jesus from the dead, lives in me. To come to the throne of God, knowing that He loves me so much He gave His son, and that He sees me as He sees Jesus, but still not forget that He holds my next breath in His hands; that’s how I pray these days.
I ask questions as a child asking her daddy, I trust when he says, “You are too young to understand that now.” I go to Him when my heart is aching, I go to Him when my heart is dancing. He is my Father. And prayer is me talking to my Father. No theatrics, no false humility, because He knows me, so completely.
