Lutheran Church of Mahomet, The Invitation Lent 2018 | Page 18

When Pastor approached me about writing something about prayer, I thought “What in
the world do I have to offer! I'm a stay at home Mom that, at best, throws up ‘popcorn
prayers’ throughout my days of laundry, digging candy out of my toaster, and getting
sticky kisses when deemed important enough to stop their little feet from running right
by me.”
I would love that alone time with God, but let's be honest... If I manage alone time it's
usually for something as mundane as running to the store by myself. So for all of this,
my prayer life is made up of a constant all day dialogue as if God is my best friend and
I'm running things by Him. I throw my prayers up to Him like popcorn popping in a hot
skillet.
When I was little, I remember going with my parents to the communion rail, watching
them kneel and bow their heads in prayer, and thinking, “I wish I knew what they were
saying to God.” As I got older I made sure I prayed every night before bed because I
thought that's what you're supposed to do. I went to Sunday school every Sunday and I
felt like that meant you had faith. Not until I hit thirteen did my idea of prayer change.
One night my father became very sick and we rushed him to the ER. We stayed in the
ICU with him day and night for 3 weeks, but lost him at the age of 42. The memory of
holding his hand while we surrounded his bed and praying the Lord's Prayer with my
sisters and Mom is still very vivid in my mind. The way I prayed changed that night. God
became more real to me. When my Mom's sister passed away from brain cancer two
years later, I remember praying "Please Father, don't take her from us, it's not fair." A
couple of years later I was four months from my wedding day and I got a call telling me
that my fiancée was in a bad car accident. That moment I dropped to my knees and
prayed desperately for God to save him, bargaining with God to let him live even if he
had to meet me at the altar in a wheel chair. He passed away that night....
By this time I was pretty ravaged and my prayers were weak and angry. I hadn't yet
shook my fist at God, but I was seriously doubting every ounce of what faith I thought I
had. I started yelling out "whys?" when my Grandmother, a second mom to me, passed
suddenly four months later. I would say I was the angriest I've ever been at God. I was
numb and my prayers were few and far between, because I felt like He wasn't listening.