this kind of prayer

credit


Last night I went to another meeting.  Haven't I been to a million of those 12-step meetings yet? Haven't I reached my quota yet?  I find myself itching.  Like some kind of unseen friction demanding it's time to shed another layer.  

We read step 11, personal revelation, ya know, praying and getting answers and stuff.  The first paragraph stopped me and I began to think of the "...angry, confused times when, if we prayed at all, we prayed either in an attitude of stubborn self-will or whimpering self-pity."

How many times have I stamped my little feet, bawled till my eyes were sandpaper and shook my fist at the man in the moon demanding He change this or that.

A few weeks ago I lost something, a small brown package.  I spent hours tearing out drawers and closets and frantically sifting through piles and toy boxes.  Throwing stuff from one place to another, wearing my impatience like a flamethrower.  Stand back!   

Finally, I hit a hit false rock bottom, I shook my first at the sky and said, "Fine.  I'll say a damn prayer and ask for your help."  

And, so, I said an angry, anxious, demanding prayer with one eye open and one hand still rummaging through the drawer.  It sounded something like this:


Dear God, 
Give me exactly what I want right now before I explode!    
Amen.
I opened the closed eye and dug with full force and and more determination.  Another painful hour passed until I hit the real rock bottom.  The kind where you surrender and sigh and lean for support against the wall, truly aware of your powerlessness.  I picked up a book and a slip of paper fell out that read;
Be anxious for nothing; but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.  Philippians 4:6
That was the moment I faced my powerlessness and my terrible fiery ego.  With both eyes closed, I gave Him my flamethrower, raised my hands to my heart, whispered my sorrys and gently asked that my heart align with His.  That moment of silence pounded in my chest.

I opened my eyes and opened the drawer I had torn through a million times in the last few hours and my heart burst into tears...there, as if our Fathers' hand had reached down from the heavens and placed it there Himself, the small brown package lay on top of the drawers jumbled mess.