I keep thinking about "how we pray", and how, so often, many people just "do their thing" (if they pray at all) then scoot on to whatever business they have that day.
There have been phases in my life where I have purposefully not done that.... I have disciplined myself to finish my prayer, then remain quiet and listen. (Psalm 46:10) Then, unfortunately, I get back in my old habits of "pray and stray".
Yesterday, out of the blue, I heard from Terri. It was so good to hear from her, as she was a part of my youth group many years ago.
David, a youth intern, and I had been talking about what we could do to better minister spiritually to our youth group. One of the things we came up with (and I don't even remember how or why, but it could have had something to do with Billy Beacham's Spiritual Journal notebook) was an idea to take a list of all our youth, and "pray down the list" for each one of them by name.
One afternoon, David and I were doing just that, and came to Terri's name. We both just stopped. I asked David what he was feeling, and he said "something is wrong". (Yeah, I know, it's not all about feelings)
We prayed for her, then I suggested we run by her house to see what's going on.
She was sitting on the front porch steps, smoking a cigarette. When we got out of the car, I sat down beside her on the steps, and David sat beside her on the other side. Neither of us spoke.
She said, "I wondered if you'd come". Just like that. Puzzled, I asked, "what does that mean?" Terri was what we used to call a tomboy - a rough gal who didn't like being "ladylike".
She said, "I've had it - I'm all done - nothing is working right - I miss my dad...." We both just listened (David is a man of very few words, and sometimes I'm wise enough to allow the Holy Spirit to just shut my mouth)
She started to sob, snuffed the cigarette out, and flicked the butt into the bushes. Then she said, "I just told God that I'm all done, and I was going to smoke one last cigarette and end it all -- my dad's gun is on my bed, and I was headed there next".
We both hugged her, and David started praying for her. She wept. A lot. We all did.
Her dad had left years ago, and it was just her and her mother living there, and they weren't speaking. Mom was a Christian, Terri didn't know what she (Terri) was. Mom had talked to me a lot about Terri and how it was just so hard to reach her, and Terri missed her Dad, and just stayed so angry.
David kept talking to Terri while I asked to use the restroom. I found her bedroom - there was, indeed, a snubnosed .38 on the bed, fully loaded. I emptied the bullets, put the gun in my back pocket, used the restroom, then came back outside and sat back down on the steps. We talked for another 20 minutes or so, then mom came home from work. She was cheerful when she got out of the car, but apparently quickly assessed the situation and saw we were in serious discussion. She said she was going in the house to make us some tea.
For the next 3 years, Terri was a regular in our youth group. She had already been very close to "too old to be in the group", so she became a sponsor / mentor / encourager.
We only talked about that incident one time, about 4 years after it happened, and Terri told us she never thanked us for coming, and admitted she didn't know if she could have actually "done it" or not, but was glad that she didn't have to. I don't think her mom ever knew what all went on that day - just that we came by to talk to Terri, and her life changed. I still have the gun.
So, it makes me think. How many opportunities do we miss by unloading our prayer on the Father, and not waiting around to see if He has anything for us? I'm gonna try to get back to listening.
There have been phases in my life where I have purposefully not done that.... I have disciplined myself to finish my prayer, then remain quiet and listen. (Psalm 46:10) Then, unfortunately, I get back in my old habits of "pray and stray".
Yesterday, out of the blue, I heard from Terri. It was so good to hear from her, as she was a part of my youth group many years ago.
David, a youth intern, and I had been talking about what we could do to better minister spiritually to our youth group. One of the things we came up with (and I don't even remember how or why, but it could have had something to do with Billy Beacham's Spiritual Journal notebook) was an idea to take a list of all our youth, and "pray down the list" for each one of them by name.
One afternoon, David and I were doing just that, and came to Terri's name. We both just stopped. I asked David what he was feeling, and he said "something is wrong". (Yeah, I know, it's not all about feelings)
We prayed for her, then I suggested we run by her house to see what's going on.
She was sitting on the front porch steps, smoking a cigarette. When we got out of the car, I sat down beside her on the steps, and David sat beside her on the other side. Neither of us spoke.
She said, "I wondered if you'd come". Just like that. Puzzled, I asked, "what does that mean?" Terri was what we used to call a tomboy - a rough gal who didn't like being "ladylike".
She said, "I've had it - I'm all done - nothing is working right - I miss my dad...." We both just listened (David is a man of very few words, and sometimes I'm wise enough to allow the Holy Spirit to just shut my mouth)
She started to sob, snuffed the cigarette out, and flicked the butt into the bushes. Then she said, "I just told God that I'm all done, and I was going to smoke one last cigarette and end it all -- my dad's gun is on my bed, and I was headed there next".
We both hugged her, and David started praying for her. She wept. A lot. We all did.
Her dad had left years ago, and it was just her and her mother living there, and they weren't speaking. Mom was a Christian, Terri didn't know what she (Terri) was. Mom had talked to me a lot about Terri and how it was just so hard to reach her, and Terri missed her Dad, and just stayed so angry.
David kept talking to Terri while I asked to use the restroom. I found her bedroom - there was, indeed, a snubnosed .38 on the bed, fully loaded. I emptied the bullets, put the gun in my back pocket, used the restroom, then came back outside and sat back down on the steps. We talked for another 20 minutes or so, then mom came home from work. She was cheerful when she got out of the car, but apparently quickly assessed the situation and saw we were in serious discussion. She said she was going in the house to make us some tea.
For the next 3 years, Terri was a regular in our youth group. She had already been very close to "too old to be in the group", so she became a sponsor / mentor / encourager.
We only talked about that incident one time, about 4 years after it happened, and Terri told us she never thanked us for coming, and admitted she didn't know if she could have actually "done it" or not, but was glad that she didn't have to. I don't think her mom ever knew what all went on that day - just that we came by to talk to Terri, and her life changed. I still have the gun.
So, it makes me think. How many opportunities do we miss by unloading our prayer on the Father, and not waiting around to see if He has anything for us? I'm gonna try to get back to listening.
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