The Mystery

 Praying is something I have done for a long, long time.  I remember early prayers at age seven as I dealt with the sudden death of my father.  I remember prayers as a  boy out in a dog fennel field where I played as I figured God was up there in one of those big white puffy clouds.  And I remember prayers in more churches than I can begin to count and so many more prayers that were prayed in the quiet places where I sought God in moments of personal solitude.  I have prayed and prayed, but still it remains a mystery.   

Somewhere early in the days of ministry I began to learn about praying for others.  I offered pastoral prayers for the people of God from the pulpit and more prayers in the places where I gathered with others in their moments of desperation.  I did not always pray in those moments because I knew what was happening, but because I knew not what else to do.  It would seem after so many years and so much experience with this particular spiritual discipline that I could write a book, but it is one book I would never feel worthy or adequate to write.  

In the last few days and even this morning I was reminded of the reality of prayers being offered in my behalf.  It is always a humbling moment.  It is also a moment which has caused me to reflect back over the events of recent days with a realization that God has been at work in some of the hard things in my life.  And, even as I remember, I find a sense of wonder that causes me to ask if some of this is not the result of those prayers offered by some who are friends and some who are strangers.  Again, I do not know all the answers.  But, I am grateful.  I am grateful for the prayers which have been prayed and for the God who listens and surely somehow mysteriously uses them to create good in the difficult times of life.