This week I tried an experiment where I just told God what was happening. I didn’t really even spiritualize it. I just told him stuff as it happened. “God, I’m worried about the conversation I have to have with X person later.” “My muscles are sore from working out yesterday.” “I like the way the bricks on that building look.” “My lips are getting chapped.”
I just told him stuff. I just acknowledged that he existed. I don’t normally do that.
Sammy Adebiyi put it well. Why I don’t believe in prayer? Because I don’t pray. If I believed in the kind of prayer Jesus spoke of, I’d hardly be able to stop.
I do pray pretty often, but I find myself praying like I don’t believe in it. I pray to look spiritual, to transition in a conversation, because I don’t know how else to end a meeting, because David is asking me to or something.
I don’t think this is how Jesus prayed, but I also don’t think God has a tally in heaven keeping track of when I did or did not pray before I ate a meal. (What about a light snack, does that count? Should I pray again if I eat seconds?) No, God is not giving me a grade for my prayers.
He spoke the universe into existence.
He holds the entire cosmos in the palm of his hands.
He is unstoppable.
He is always good.
His glory at full blast would kill us.
He has no beginning or end. He’s the first and the last.
Anyway, as for this week’s experiment, it very quietly changed everything. I have lots of friends, a great relationship with my family, about to graduate from MSU, and am marrying the most desirable man alive. But on the inside, I feel unavoidably completely miserable. It took me a while to figure out the reason, but it’s that I can’t hear God telling me he loves me. So I just decided to start talking to him more. I can hardly stop. I love prayer. If I didn’t pray for one day, I would lose my mind.
It’s a process.