Reflection

I grew up in a family that prayed. But that statement might give you the wrong impression. It might be more accurate to say, “I grew up in a family that religiously recited prayers.” 

 We recited a common table prayer before every meal and the Lord’s Prayer before breakfast. My mother taught me a very scary bedtime prayer: Now I lay me down to sleep; I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. Amen.

To a six-year-old, that’s a scary prayer. It’s enough to keep you awake lest your soul be carried off in the night, while you’re off in la-la land.

I don’t think I really prayed—prayed from the heart—until the end of my grade four school year. The memory is still fresh in my mind. The little one-room country school I attended was closing. In September, I would be bussed to the big school in town. This change was frightening. The familiar was being taken away and in its place was something big, strange, and intimidating. Could I survive there? Could I thrive there? These thoughts troubled me.

On my last walk home from my country school, I left the pairie road and walked into a grove of poplars. That’s where I prayed—not a meaningless recited prayer—but a prayer from my heart to God. I asked for wisdom, strength, and God’s favour for the challenging year ahead. God answered. After all these years I can say, “Praise be to God, who has not rejected my prayer or withheld his love from me!” (v.20).

Response

LORD God, thank you for answering prayer—not once but thousands of times. Again and again, you have proven your love for me. You are the God who hears me. Amen.