Lessons On Prayer From A Gift Catalog: Epilogue

Note: This reflection is a continuation of Part II

I am thankful to report that my journey with the gift catalog had one more stop before the end of the line.

A few days ago while at lunch with a friend I poured out my sorrows regarding this child of mine who had expressed no interest in the gift catalog. My friend's response was constructive and encouraging. He challenged me to realize that there were ways to broach the topic without putting my child in the judgment seat. Ways to open the conversation without condemnation.

Thankful for this input, I changed course. A few days later at an opportune moment I gently raised the topic with the child. Was there a gift purchase the child would like me to make?

To my surprise, the child recalled having opted for the surgery fund I had mentioned. We had obviously miscommunicated, since this was very much news to me, but it was good news. I had thought the child had opted out of the whole business. The child thought otherwise.

The child was clearly not so apathetic as I had feared. But to discover this good news, I needed to create space for it — space created by relationship and communication. It almost didn't happen.

Once again I am reminded of how priceless a good friend is — especially the kind that prod me and poke me when I need it.

Once again I am reminded that when I assume the worst (and proceed as if it's already reality) I can become midwife to the very outcome I dread.

But scriptures bid me do otherwise.

1 Corinthians 13:6-7 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Lessons On Prayer From A Gift Catalog: Part II

Note: This reflection follows on the heels of Part I

But my lessons on prayer from the gift catalog were not over yet.

Some days after several children expressed interest in "buying a cow and some chickens," I got on the phone to find out just how much each animal costs. It was a simple question, I thought, but the answer proved more complicated.

After getting a representative from the charity on the line, I soon found out that gifts "toward the purchase of a cow" essentially go into a pooled livestock fund. All well and good, except for the fact that I had really hoped to get pictures back of the cows we purchased alongside their happy new owners. I asked the representative if it would be possible for my children to receive pictures of recipients alongside their new cows?

No. There is no one-to-one matching between donors and cows.

Bummer.

She was making perfect sense, but it wasn't what I had hoped to hear. Could they send us a picture of someone receiving a cow, even if there is no exact mapping between donor dollars and any particular cow?

No.

Frustration. This conversation was not going according to plan. I changed the topic to the possibility of a life-saving surgery that we were also considering. Would we be able to know what that surgery would be? Know who it would be for?

No.

More frustration. Here too, however, the woman was making perfect sense. There were privacy issues at stake, plus the fact that surgery decisions are made pretty quickly, so they cannot predict in advance where the money yada yada yada...

The conversation was friendly enough, and I understood where the woman was coming from, but I got off the phone feeling rather frustrated and deflated.

The fact of the matter was, I had wanted to get some photos and stories to go with our giving. Adults can do without photos, but I felt that photos would make a big difference for my children. Photos would make more the reality of their gift-giving more concrete.

But a thought began to nag me. It wasn't entirely about my children. When it came down to it, I too wanted to know what surgery we had purchased, if we went that route.

I began to consider alternative options. In our home there were other gift catalogs of the same nature. Hmmmm. We could buy a buffalo for a family in India from that other catalog instead. Maybe they could accommodate my request for photos.

And in came the painful realization. New insights into my own brokenness.

I have no business approaching these gift catalogs like an American consumer, but that's exactly what I'm doing.

Ouch.

I had gone into that phone call with a shopping agenda. When I didn't hear what I wanted to hear, I started to consider shopping elsewhere. That's pretty arrogant and rude, considering what's at stake on the other side of this transaction. Families in need swinging in the balance of my own petty shopping preferences.

Once again, I began to see connections between the gift catalog and prayer.

• I should not have approached the gift catalog as a consumer.
Neither should I enter into prayer as a consumer.

• I was expecting the charity to tell me precisely what I bought.
Sometimes I expect God to do the same with my prayers.

• When I didn't perceive the charity to be fawning over my charity dollars, I was tempted to spend them elsewhere.
When I don't perceive God to be fawning over my prayer time, I am tempted to spend it elsewhere.

• The charity will put my money to good use.
God will do the same with my prayers.

• But I don't make the rules for the charity.
And God is in charge of the prayer business.

These thoughts were making me squirm, and probing questions from God began to surface in my mind.

Pilgrim, when you pray to me for someone else... Is it about you? Or about me and them?

Ouch.

Pilgrim, when I answer your prayers with a Yes, you often make it known that you were praying. Are you trying to claim ownership of outcomes that came from my hand alone?

Double Ouch.

But little Pilgrim, when I answer other prayers with a No, you get pretty silent. That isn't very consistent, is it?

Triple Ouch.

My child, I answer all of your prayers well. But my ways are not yours, and my reasons are not yours. Will you still trust me with the outcomes?

...Or do you expect me too to send you photos?

Note: This reflection continues with an Epilogue

Lessons On Prayer From A Gift Catalog: Part I

Over the past few years our charitable giving has not kept up with the amount of money we've set aside for that purpose. In short, inflows regularly exceed outflows. Time to take our charitable giving up a notch.

But where should the money go?

It struck me early on that I wanted our kids to be involved in answering that question. My hope ever was that their involvement would foster awareness of (a) how unbelievably wealthy we are by world standards, and (b) what life is like for the poorest of the poor. I hoped to see our children grow in their compassion and love for the poor and downtrodden of this world.

Making the task that much the easier, missions organizations send out "gift catalogs" around this time of year. You can buy a goat... a chicken... give a family a cow. You can buy clean water for a family. Meals for a hungry child. You can even buy a life-saving surgery. So many options!

How fun it would be, I thought, to give each kid a budget and then let them look through the catalog and spend it as they wished. A few weeks ago I finally pulled the trigger and did just that. We sat the whole family down, explained the plan, and set the gift catalog on the coffee table.

Then things began to fall apart.

For starters, reactions were muted. It didn't take too long for the kids to realize that this was not money they could keep for themselves. They could spend it on others — or on no one. But not on themselves. Once that became clear, any hope for a giddy response was gone. Human nature being what it is, I had largely prepared myself for this eventuality.

It was the child who didn't react at all who caught me by surprise.

Three kids did engage. Expressed interest in buying cows and chickens. ("How much does a cow cost?") Made purchasing decisions.

One child, however, never said a word. Never opened the gift catalog. Went back to reading a book as soon as I stopped speaking. Never looked back.

Enter the great sorrow. Days passed. A week. Two weeks. Nothing. My sorrow at the child's apathy increased and multiplied. I prayed about it. Thought about it. Strategized...

But the more I strategized, the more I realized my hands were tied with chains I could not loose. I wanted the child to participate out of joy and excitement. That moment passed at the time of the announcement, and I cannot revive it later by force or manipulation.

One day in the car I again brought my sorrow to the Lord. "God," I asked, "what have I done wrong here?" I then began to re-think (again) the situation over, trying to see the situation from the child's perspective.

"The child knows," I mused to myself, "that I'm going to give the money to a charity regardless. The child's inaction won't, in that sense, change anything. Perhaps that is why the child feels no sense of urgency or obligation."

Fair enough. But the fact is, I wanted my child to participate in the event. Direct my giving. I wanted my child to care along with me about the recipients of these gifts.

And that's when it hit me in a flash. A pain. A very sharp pain.

This is how God feels when I don't pray for others.

Ouch. Double Ouch. Triple Ouch. Am I aghast at my child's apathy? Guess what... I exhibit those same traits when faced the opportunity to pray. Not always, but all too often. All too often. The parallels between my gift catalog situation and my own personal prayer life tumbled into my mind, one by one.

• To my children's eyes, I have unlimited resources. So does God.

• I have made some of those resources available to my children for the benefit of others. When God invites me to pray for others, he is doing essentially the same thing.

• If my children don't take me up on the offer, I'm still going to put those resources to use for the benefit of others. Ditto that for God. My failure to pray is not going to prevent God from caring for this Earth, its inhabitants, and indeed the very person I am not praying for.

• Something has nevertheless been lost if my children have no interest in helping me give. Best I can tell, the same thing is lost when I choose not to share, through prayer, in God's providential work.

All these thoughts rolled through my head in a matter of seconds. It was profoundly humbling to realize how often I leave "God's gift catalog" untouched, preferring instead to spend my time and thoughts elsewhere.

And then the blessings began to flow. For out of this great sorrow God imparted to me a great blessing: a new understanding of how God feels about prayer.

In any given moment of any given day, there is a gift catalog on the coffee table of my mind. Depending upon where I am, alternatives will always be available. I can daydream in the car. I can surf the internet if I'm near a PC. I can go back to reading my book.

There is a time for daydreaming. Good books are a good thing. But if I am not drawn like a magnet to prayer, I am essentially doing to God what my child did to me: thumbing my nose at his gift catalog, leaving God do the picking, choosing, and blessing without my input. I actually make God sad when I do that.

The result? God grieves. And my soul is impoverished. Or should I say that God is grieved because my soul is impoverished?

But thanks to this experience I now have a renewed excitement and sense of urgency about prayer. It's not a chore. It's a gift catalog! I can spend wildly. On God's dime! With his blessing!

Will I open it?

Note: This reflection continues in Part II

Worth More Than A Minute?

I've been grieved in my spirit over the past few years as I have watched my children grow older. One lacks spiritual vibrancy. Another seems to lack any life of the Spirit whatsoever. Sorrow pierces my soul in this matter.

That said, I found myself the recipient of both great comfort and great conviction in the 2nd chapter of "Hudson Taylor's Spiritual Secret" which I began to read recently.

Comfort came in the reminder that Hudson's spiritual life began at the age of seventeen. It's not clear what kind of child he was prior to that age, but apparently not one evidencing the life of Christ within. Hope! My children are many years younger than that. Perhaps they too will turn soon.

And how exciting and riveting to read of his his sister's entry that month in her prayer journal: she would pray daily for his salvation until it came. That very month it came!

But the real barn-buster came with his mother's role in the matter.

Many miles away, the mother was specially burdened that Saturday afternoon about her only son. Leaving her friends she went alone to plead with God for his salvation. Hour after hour passed while that mother was still upon her knees, until her heart flooded with a joyful assurance that her prayers were heard and answered.

The account of what happened that very afternoon in the heart of young Hudson, miles away from his mother and her desperate pleas before the throne of God, is enough to bring tears to the eyes of all but the hardest of hearts.

I found that passage, needless to say, greatly encouraging. I can have a role in my child's salvation! I cannot force it to happen, but God wants me to pray more about it! What an encouraging thought for a desperate man. I'm not quite so helpless in this matter as I have felt in recent months.

I left the book there to attend to some parental duties, but immediately the conviction began. And set in deep.

When have I ever prayed about anything for more than an hour? Ever? I'm not sure I have. Oh yes, I've reminded God of my concerns throughout the day on various serious matters. But uninterrupted prayer? I think the answer is.... never.

To be honest, I think most of my prayers for any one topic are, quite literally, not longer than a few seconds. Maybe a minute. It's a crushing thing to admit, but the time-span element and attention quality of my prayer life are, as they say, emblematic of the MTV generation.

Ironically, I decided to pen this blog as a challenge to myself to do just this for my children at least once a month. Are my children not worth an hour of solid prayer, once a month?

Ironically, I say, because it usually takes me an hour to get my thoughts down to my satisfaction. So I've now spent more time on this blog, today, than I have ever spent praying for a single child in one sitting. And I knew that would be true before I began to type.

So this blog had better earn its living fast, reminding me for years to come of a commitment I hope to keep for the rest of my life.

But even as I wrap this blog up, more conviction has come. Having just typed in the text myself, I'm now reminded that Hudson's mother excused herself from the presence of friends on that day she prayed several hours straight for the life of her son.

I have never left any fellowship of friends in order to spend time in prayer. I've declined engagements from time to time, I suppose. But I've never, so to speak, "left the party" so as to pray.

Oh, God! For a heart to know when this is the prescription you have made for my soul. How desperate my deafness, to never have heard this call. Give life to my ears, my Lord. They cannot hear.

Give life to my children, my Lord. They cannot hear either.