Prayer Raper
I'm a prayer raper. And I only know for sure that I am, because my husband coined that term one day, when I interrupted one of our conversations we were having, to bow my head and pray. I don't think that he has ever called me anything that has made me so excited. I'll admit; I'm awkward. Sometimes, if he is talking about a problem or a blessing, I will just shut down the conversation and start praying. It cracks me up that he said that.
Jesus set out such a good example of what a prayer life should be. He, the son of God, Godman, came to earth and knew the importance of being in constant communication with God. I love his heart to pray fervently; it's so convicting. I couldn't imagine what it would be like to go into the desert for forty days and forty nights and pray without ceasing, and then talk back to the whiles of the devil. I would be more like Peter, who after Jesus commanded to stay up with Him and pray, fell asleep. While Jon calls me a "prayer raper," I would hardly be the kind of person who would pray all night. To know the bodily sacrifice that Christ endured, and then to call out to God during the midst of it all is so reassuring to me. I KNOW I cannot do much alone. I know it from the person I am, but mostly that even the King of Kings knew He could not do much alone: Jesus said before he went to the cross, "Father, if you are willing, please take this cup of suffering away from me. Yet I want your will to be done, not mine." Luke 22:42. He asked God to take the pain he was about to endure away. But God didn't.
I hate that. There have been so many prayers that God has answered in my life. He has answered prayers of my heart and done things beyond what I could even imagine. I am certainly so blessed. But I have to also say, that there have been even more prayers; a test of faith, almost, that God has not answered. It makes me feel powerless, and tired. It is the saddest part of life when you pour out your faith and your heart to God, and then come back without the answer you wanted.
I wanted so badly for my dad to come back to us when he left. You would think that God would want to answer a prayer like that, from an 11 year old girl; knowing exactly what she was about to endure in the following 5 years. If I were God, I would have answered me. I remember crying, and begging, and yelling and screaming at God. Endless nights, I stayed up and prayed fervently for my dad to come home. I can paint the picture for you the best I can; baby brother with no hope in his future to understand what it meant to have a mom and dad at home in the same room during Christmas time, younger sister, who clamped up, shut down, and focused on school and perfecting herself to dismiss the pain. But the worst, and the most hurtful of it all was being an 11 year old watching your mom, a hero, get hurt. I prayed. I was broken. There aren't words to describe the punch-in-the gut pain I felt when my dad left my mom.
How does one reconcile that? How do you understand that a loving God would allow for such devastation to occur in life? We all know that. We know in our heart of hearts that pain is an essential, and likely part of life. Some of us run from it, but it always catches up to us. People we love die. People we love hurt us. Children in Africa starve. War destroys countries. It's enough to make you want to turn from God. To not believe in Him. To make a point to accept any other truth than the fact that maybe Jesus was here. Maybe the King of Kings wanted to take part in our suffering. Not wanted to, needed to. He clearly asked to have it removed, but instead, He moved forward. To do what He was meant to do.
Jesus came for me. He didn't come for me so that my mom and dad could get back together. He didn't come so that everyday with Jon would be like the first day that we met. He didn't come so that I could always be happy, and healthy, and successful. I know He wants that for me, but that is not why He came. He came for a different reason. A better reason. He came so that I could spend eternity with Him. So that during my time here, I could get to know Him. And do my best to show others His love (which I fail at, often). He does not want me to suffer, or have hurt, and that is why He came. To build the bridge that I tore apart with my pride and my sin. He came to build it back with His life.
I have a hope. I don't hope in health, happiness, or success. I don't place my hope in my kids. I don't place my hope in my friends, or my family. I don't hope in my husband. I have hope that I will be able to sit on my Father's lap one day in Heaven. That I will be free of the suffering that I endured here. And the only way that I constantly check myself to NOT hope in the things of this world that will hurt me, or rust, or die, or not fulfill me is to be in CONSTANT communication with Him. I need to pray rape Jon. I need to because if I don't, my perspective will go back to me. To back to the things that I think I want.
I struggle so often to keep my focus on Him. The best way that I know how to do it is to seek Him. To pray. To learn, and to know Him.
He knew 20 years ago when I called out to Him, that what was best for me was not a mended family. While that would be better for me, that wasn't what was best. He didn't answer the prayer the way I wanted Him to. Jesus wants to bless me with abundance in this life and in the next, but not with the things that I think that I want. He wants to teach me how to have better character. He wants me to have a good outlook; rich or poor, better or worse. I admit, I struggle to know what Paul meant when he said "I know how to live on almost nothing or with everything. I have learned the secret of living in every situation, whether it is with a full stomach or empty, with plenty or little." (Phil 4:12) I want to have that attitude no matter what is happening in life. I want to know that no matter what Satan tries to distract me with, or what life throws at me, that I know how to live. And in my 10 years of walking with Christ, I have learned that the only way I can, is by living in Him.
So I will continue to be a prayer raper. I hope I get better at it the older I get.
Jesus set out such a good example of what a prayer life should be. He, the son of God, Godman, came to earth and knew the importance of being in constant communication with God. I love his heart to pray fervently; it's so convicting. I couldn't imagine what it would be like to go into the desert for forty days and forty nights and pray without ceasing, and then talk back to the whiles of the devil. I would be more like Peter, who after Jesus commanded to stay up with Him and pray, fell asleep. While Jon calls me a "prayer raper," I would hardly be the kind of person who would pray all night. To know the bodily sacrifice that Christ endured, and then to call out to God during the midst of it all is so reassuring to me. I KNOW I cannot do much alone. I know it from the person I am, but mostly that even the King of Kings knew He could not do much alone: Jesus said before he went to the cross, "Father, if you are willing, please take this cup of suffering away from me. Yet I want your will to be done, not mine." Luke 22:42. He asked God to take the pain he was about to endure away. But God didn't.
I hate that. There have been so many prayers that God has answered in my life. He has answered prayers of my heart and done things beyond what I could even imagine. I am certainly so blessed. But I have to also say, that there have been even more prayers; a test of faith, almost, that God has not answered. It makes me feel powerless, and tired. It is the saddest part of life when you pour out your faith and your heart to God, and then come back without the answer you wanted.
I wanted so badly for my dad to come back to us when he left. You would think that God would want to answer a prayer like that, from an 11 year old girl; knowing exactly what she was about to endure in the following 5 years. If I were God, I would have answered me. I remember crying, and begging, and yelling and screaming at God. Endless nights, I stayed up and prayed fervently for my dad to come home. I can paint the picture for you the best I can; baby brother with no hope in his future to understand what it meant to have a mom and dad at home in the same room during Christmas time, younger sister, who clamped up, shut down, and focused on school and perfecting herself to dismiss the pain. But the worst, and the most hurtful of it all was being an 11 year old watching your mom, a hero, get hurt. I prayed. I was broken. There aren't words to describe the punch-in-the gut pain I felt when my dad left my mom.
How does one reconcile that? How do you understand that a loving God would allow for such devastation to occur in life? We all know that. We know in our heart of hearts that pain is an essential, and likely part of life. Some of us run from it, but it always catches up to us. People we love die. People we love hurt us. Children in Africa starve. War destroys countries. It's enough to make you want to turn from God. To not believe in Him. To make a point to accept any other truth than the fact that maybe Jesus was here. Maybe the King of Kings wanted to take part in our suffering. Not wanted to, needed to. He clearly asked to have it removed, but instead, He moved forward. To do what He was meant to do.
Jesus came for me. He didn't come for me so that my mom and dad could get back together. He didn't come so that everyday with Jon would be like the first day that we met. He didn't come so that I could always be happy, and healthy, and successful. I know He wants that for me, but that is not why He came. He came for a different reason. A better reason. He came so that I could spend eternity with Him. So that during my time here, I could get to know Him. And do my best to show others His love (which I fail at, often). He does not want me to suffer, or have hurt, and that is why He came. To build the bridge that I tore apart with my pride and my sin. He came to build it back with His life.
I have a hope. I don't hope in health, happiness, or success. I don't place my hope in my kids. I don't place my hope in my friends, or my family. I don't hope in my husband. I have hope that I will be able to sit on my Father's lap one day in Heaven. That I will be free of the suffering that I endured here. And the only way that I constantly check myself to NOT hope in the things of this world that will hurt me, or rust, or die, or not fulfill me is to be in CONSTANT communication with Him. I need to pray rape Jon. I need to because if I don't, my perspective will go back to me. To back to the things that I think I want.
I struggle so often to keep my focus on Him. The best way that I know how to do it is to seek Him. To pray. To learn, and to know Him.
He knew 20 years ago when I called out to Him, that what was best for me was not a mended family. While that would be better for me, that wasn't what was best. He didn't answer the prayer the way I wanted Him to. Jesus wants to bless me with abundance in this life and in the next, but not with the things that I think that I want. He wants to teach me how to have better character. He wants me to have a good outlook; rich or poor, better or worse. I admit, I struggle to know what Paul meant when he said "I know how to live on almost nothing or with everything. I have learned the secret of living in every situation, whether it is with a full stomach or empty, with plenty or little." (Phil 4:12) I want to have that attitude no matter what is happening in life. I want to know that no matter what Satan tries to distract me with, or what life throws at me, that I know how to live. And in my 10 years of walking with Christ, I have learned that the only way I can, is by living in Him.
So I will continue to be a prayer raper. I hope I get better at it the older I get.
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