All it took was a stomach bug to send things over the cliff.
Grief was running high over tragedies in the church family. Anxiety was running high over a sick husband, and a baby's scheduled surgery. Then the stomach bug hit. And all of the sudden, surgery was postponed, and a visit from my mother and sister which was intended to be for the sake of keeping me company in the waiting room turned into a visit for the sake of helping me take care of a sick baby...and a sick me.
Anxiety and illness make you vulnerable to all of the other worries and fears that an otherwise healthy mind and heart are able to keep in check. Too much work to do around the church office. Grief over seeing the suffering side of a father's cancer battle. Guilt over a disastrously dirty kitchen and disorganized house and overgrown lawn.
It was a Wednesday afternoon when it all just became too much. I wept through dinnertime, watching Matt and Sam eat while I felt too crummy to put anything in my mouth.
That evening, I was scheduled to rehearse one song with the church choir. Ten minutes of my time. I knew when I left for church that evening that despite feeling sick, I would end up staying the whole rehearsal. I needed to be on my own, and out of the house, and doing something (like music) that fed my soul.
I was getting my music together in my office when the church's former senior pastor (a member of the church and a member of the choir) stepped into the doorway. Referring to the tragedies in our congregation, he said, "What a rough week. How are you doing, kiddo?" In any other moment, I might have bristled at such a term of affection. But in the moment, it was a gesture of love and of care, a way of saying to me, "I know how hard things can be when you have to lead a church through sad times." He came over and offered me a hug.
He thought that he was offering support for the difficult work of being a pastor in the midst of a congregation's grief. He had no idea that he was offering support for all of the other parts of my life that were feeling sad and overwhelming.
At the end of choir rehearsal, as we offered up prayer requests, he spoke up and said that we should be praying for our pastors in this difficult time. He asked if it would be all right if her offered a prayer right then and there, and if it would be all right to have the choir surround me and lay hands on me.
Before I knew it, thirty pairs of hands rested on me or near me. And a prayer was spoken for peace and for strength.
And again, everyone thought they were offering care and support for the office of the ministry in a difficult time. They had no idea just how deeply I needed those hands, that prayer, that support.
Now prayer isn't magic, I know that. I don't expect it to be. And when those thirty pairs of hands lifted and I opened my eyes, there was no miracle or epiphany. I didn't suddenly feel all better in body, mind, and spirit.
But I did feel strengthened to face the rest of the night, and the next days.
Sometimes when we pray, I think that we expect God to lift all our burdens at once. We want God to prove his presence and might by making it all better, right away, in some dramatic "once was blind but now I see" fashion.
But I think that prayer is actually more a matter of peeling off layers, one at a time. Layers of sadness or fear, layers of ailment, layers of anxiety, layers of a hardened heart. Sometimes prayer is about lifting just enough weight that we can take one plodding step forward. And then we pray again. And take another step.
Is prayer that changes us bit by bit any less valid than prayer that blinds us with dramatic transformation? I don't think so. I think that prayer helps us to look for God's action in our world and in our lives, even the small actions.
It has been two weeks since that bad Wednesday, and through the prayer and care of so many loving people, many layers of weight have been peeled away. Life looks brighter, I feel stronger, everyone in our household is finally feeling healthier. This is the magnitude of prayer at work: that in due course, everything will be healed and reconciled; that by the grace of God, there exists the strength to step into each new day.
Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving present your request to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. (Philippians 4:6-7)
Grief was running high over tragedies in the church family. Anxiety was running high over a sick husband, and a baby's scheduled surgery. Then the stomach bug hit. And all of the sudden, surgery was postponed, and a visit from my mother and sister which was intended to be for the sake of keeping me company in the waiting room turned into a visit for the sake of helping me take care of a sick baby...and a sick me.
Anxiety and illness make you vulnerable to all of the other worries and fears that an otherwise healthy mind and heart are able to keep in check. Too much work to do around the church office. Grief over seeing the suffering side of a father's cancer battle. Guilt over a disastrously dirty kitchen and disorganized house and overgrown lawn.
It was a Wednesday afternoon when it all just became too much. I wept through dinnertime, watching Matt and Sam eat while I felt too crummy to put anything in my mouth.
That evening, I was scheduled to rehearse one song with the church choir. Ten minutes of my time. I knew when I left for church that evening that despite feeling sick, I would end up staying the whole rehearsal. I needed to be on my own, and out of the house, and doing something (like music) that fed my soul.
I was getting my music together in my office when the church's former senior pastor (a member of the church and a member of the choir) stepped into the doorway. Referring to the tragedies in our congregation, he said, "What a rough week. How are you doing, kiddo?" In any other moment, I might have bristled at such a term of affection. But in the moment, it was a gesture of love and of care, a way of saying to me, "I know how hard things can be when you have to lead a church through sad times." He came over and offered me a hug.
He thought that he was offering support for the difficult work of being a pastor in the midst of a congregation's grief. He had no idea that he was offering support for all of the other parts of my life that were feeling sad and overwhelming.
At the end of choir rehearsal, as we offered up prayer requests, he spoke up and said that we should be praying for our pastors in this difficult time. He asked if it would be all right if her offered a prayer right then and there, and if it would be all right to have the choir surround me and lay hands on me.
Before I knew it, thirty pairs of hands rested on me or near me. And a prayer was spoken for peace and for strength.
And again, everyone thought they were offering care and support for the office of the ministry in a difficult time. They had no idea just how deeply I needed those hands, that prayer, that support.
Now prayer isn't magic, I know that. I don't expect it to be. And when those thirty pairs of hands lifted and I opened my eyes, there was no miracle or epiphany. I didn't suddenly feel all better in body, mind, and spirit.
But I did feel strengthened to face the rest of the night, and the next days.
Sometimes when we pray, I think that we expect God to lift all our burdens at once. We want God to prove his presence and might by making it all better, right away, in some dramatic "once was blind but now I see" fashion.
But I think that prayer is actually more a matter of peeling off layers, one at a time. Layers of sadness or fear, layers of ailment, layers of anxiety, layers of a hardened heart. Sometimes prayer is about lifting just enough weight that we can take one plodding step forward. And then we pray again. And take another step.
Is prayer that changes us bit by bit any less valid than prayer that blinds us with dramatic transformation? I don't think so. I think that prayer helps us to look for God's action in our world and in our lives, even the small actions.
It has been two weeks since that bad Wednesday, and through the prayer and care of so many loving people, many layers of weight have been peeled away. Life looks brighter, I feel stronger, everyone in our household is finally feeling healthier. This is the magnitude of prayer at work: that in due course, everything will be healed and reconciled; that by the grace of God, there exists the strength to step into each new day.
Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving present your request to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. (Philippians 4:6-7)