On Why I Pray

I talk a lot on this blog about faith. But I don’t talk about faith in great specificity.  Many people who read my blog are figuring out their beliefs in stops and starts, with more doubts than answers and don’t need me sucking the mystery out of the whole thing with blanket statements and a dogmatic tone.  Faith is private and deeply personal.  Our hearts are great treasures and the fountain of our lives, we must guard them.

However, once in a while, it seems appropriate for me to write something more direct, more out there.  On who I am and how in the world I got here.  Prayer has been a vital part of my life for many many years.  I write about prayer and I talk about prayer and today, I thought I’d tell some of my prayer story.  On why I pray.

I grew up in a melting pot sort of family.  My mom is from Louisianna and knew lots about faith and religion, but when she moved to Seattle, her faith was inactive.  My dad didn’t have any Christians in his family and when he met my mom, my dad was a practicing alcoholic.  (He’s now a recovering alcoholic.)

When I was about two years old someone invited my mom to a Bible study and she said thank you, but no.  That woman invited my mom to a Bible study again.  My mom said no.  Again and again my mom said thank you, but no.  Until finally, almost to get the lady off her back, she decided to go.  And then went again and then went again and then went again, until she told my dad she wanted to go to Sunday morning service.  My mom was enamored with their love, with their kindness, and their warmth drew her in.

They went to service that Sunday morning and the pastor and his wife invited my family to their house for Sunday lunch.  I have to wonder if this is what changed my family’s whole life.  Sunday lunch.  Their hospitality.  Their kindness.

To this day, my parents talk about that invitation for lunch.  Consequently, we attended that church for over a decade. My mom came into the Christian faith with all her heart.  I think she found something in the person of Jesus that she’d been searching for her entire life.  And she found something in the people of Jesus that gave her a place to belong, a place that I think, felt like home.

My mom is one of the reasons for why I pray.  My whole life, I’ve seen and felt a real authentic faith in her life.  It wasn’t pretend or made up.  It was the most real part about her.  And still is.  I saw her every morning with her Bible open, praying.  Every. Single. Day. There’s something about seeing real faith in somebody close to you that is powerful.  Undeniable.

There are myriad reasons for why I pray.  My mom’s story and example is one of them.  But I think there are a few other reasons that also stand out to me on this beautiful spring morning.  One, is that I need God.  To the marrow of my bones.  I came to this conclusion early in my teen years.  That raw, desperate, what-is-this-life about, crisis – and I found, in Jesus, the answer.  God showed up in my life when I called on him and I’ve never been the same since. I’m forever grateful.

Another reason I pray has to do with listening.  There’s no other voice I search for and listen for like God’s and when I hear him, when I know it’s God speaking … it’s life changing.  Just the other day, after months of profound and deafening silence, I heard God speak to me, and something changed.  I make no explanation for this – hearing God is mysterious and weird maybe, but it’s one of anchors of my faith that holds me and grounds me.

The last one for today, has to do with a quote from Augustine that says our soul is not at rest until we find our rest in God … and I have found a certain rest, a certain peace from pouring my heart out to an invisible God that I haven’t found anywhere else.  No girlfriend, no spiritual counselor, no husband, no creed or doctrine has given me the rest and peace I’ve found in the actual act of pouring my heart out to the God of the Bible and asking him to do things on my behalf.  So, I continue to pray.  I continue to wrestle through dark seasons, profound confusion, through disappointments, through frustrations, through silence, because I found a rest, a peace – that isn’t some happy-little-feeling, but a deep abiding stillness in the ground of my being.

Prayer is personal.  It has to do with sharing our deepest thoughts, our most honest thoughts with someone we can’t see.  It has to do with asking that person, whom we can’t see to do things, to help us, to change us, to change the people and circumstances around us.  It’s weird.  I agree.  But, as I’ve practiced prayer … talking out loud, talking in my head to this unseen being, by name … I think addressing God by name is important, my life is different.  My life has a spiritual element that surpasses understanding.  And things happen in my life that don’t make earthly sense.  That’s why I pray.

I would love to hear some of the reasons for why you pray, or why you don’t pray.

Much Love,

Tina