See You at the Pole

In The Higher Happiness, Ralph W. Sockman describes the true intention of prayer: "We use prayer as a boatman uses a boat hook: to pull the boat to the shore and not to try to pull the shore to the boat.

Pastor Lee Eclov writes:

I was surprised to read a Facebook posting from a friend in South Dakota named Diane. She wrote, "Had a nice surprise last night. At about 10:30 p.m. the phone rang. It was Governor Mike Rounds checking in with us to see how the road repair was going." There had been a lot of flooding in the area where Diane lives, and the roads were a mess—and the governor actually called her to see how she felt about the repair progress.

When I wrote Diane to express my surprise, she said it wasn't the first time a governor had called her. Another time, some years ago, one of South Dakota's previous governors called about some FEMA money for the area. She told me that when the governor called she was in the middle of a home perm, but couldn't very well tell the governor to hold while she rinsed her hair. She added: "That frizzy hair haunted me for weeks."

I know that South Dakota is a small state, but this was incredible to me. I asked Diane if she was in county government or something, and she said she wasn't. Sensing I was blown away by her interactions with the government, she had this to say: "I have found that shaking the tree from the top gets the fastest results. When there is a problem, I usually become the 'squeaky wheel,' and I think they just want to get me off their case!"

My conversation with Diane made me think of the parable Jesus told in Luke 18:1-8—the one about the persistent widow and the judge who finally relented and granted her request. Jesus concluded: "And will not God bring about justice for his chosen ones, who cry out to him day and night? Will he keep putting them off? I tell you, he will see that they get justice, and quickly. However, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on the earth?"

The issue isn't whether God cares or is listening. The issue is whether we have faith enough to persist in "shaking the tree."

For 11 years, Mary Leonard of Louisville, Kentucky, has dealt with polymyositis, a rare inflammatory tissue disease that invades the muscles. There is no known cause or cure.

Mary's case turned deadly when the disease invaded her heart. In fact, in March of 2010, Mary was told by doctors that she had 24-48 hours to live. But after 20 days in a hospice center, another 51 days in rehab, and a number of days at home, Mary is still alive. She's now reflecting on the changes that take place when you learn your time is short.

"I call myself an average Christian," Mary says. "I don't know exactly why God has done this for me, but I do know that life looks different now."

Mary offers five life lessons she learned through the ordeal:

1. Know that prayer is powerful.
2. Mend fences now.
3. Release the reins of life to God.
4. Know that God is able—more than able.
5. Put your focus on what really matters.

What is the use of praying if at the very moment of prayer, we have so little confidence in God that we are busy planning our own kind of answer to our prayer?

—Thomas Merton, Catholic writer and mystic (1915-1968)

Have you ever watched professional golfers and been awed by their ability to land a shot from two hundred yards away just a few yards from the hole? You wonder how they can judge the distance to the hole with such precision. Do they have an internal GPS system that enables them to guess the distances on the course with uncanny accuracy?

Not really. What they have is a yardage book. A yardage book is a map of each hole on the course that gives distances from various landmarks on the hole to the green. Decades ago Arnold Palmer and his caddy began drawing rough yardage charts with little pictures of trees, fairways, greens, sand traps and such of the various holes on all the courses they played. Jack Nicklaus was the pro who really made yardage books popular. Today along with the maps many pro golfers will keep what essentially is a personal journal of how they have played each hole of the course, what clubs they have used from various distances, what the wind was doing, and so on, and what happened to their shots.

Golfers swear by their yardage books. Zach Johnson, winner of the 2010 Colonial, says, "I feel naked without it out there. It's my golf bible."

Steve Marino says, "You see what you did in the past, you make sure you have the right number and then trust all of it, because the room for error is nil."

Scott Vail, caddie for Brandt Snedeker, says, "There are huge ramifications if you are just even 1 yard off."

One former caddie, George Lucas, has made a business out of driving the country and charting distances of some 1,000 golf courses and publishing his data in a book that is now available to the public.

Wouldn't it be nice to have yardage books for the tough decisions we make in life? Should I date this person or not? Should I go to this or that school? Should we buy this house? In our technological age, we want specifics. We want everything mapped out. We want to remove all the uncertainties from life. We want to be able to use our past experiences to predict exactly what will happen in the future. But God hasn't chosen to work with us in that way. He has given us an essential book of guidance that we can't do without, but we still have to use judgment in how to apply what it teaches. Most important, we need to be walking with God in prayer and trust.

If prayer stands as the place where God and human beings meet, then I must learn about prayer. Most of my struggles in the Christian life circle around the same two themes: why God doesn't act the way we want God to, and why I don't act the way God wants me to. Prayer is the precise point where those themes converge.

—Philip Yancey

Perhaps the cool, crisp air in Huancayo, Peru, should have signaled to our mission team that God was about to do something truly special.

The local Peruvians informed us that a strike was being organized by those who serve the nation's department of local transportation, and it might take place on the day our mission project was scheduled to begin. At best a strike would limit our work. Worse, it could put our team in danger. We would have to walk a mile to the mission site with potential threats lurking around every corner. Having heard the discouraging news, the men on the mission team decided to walk the streets of Huancayo and ask God for a miracle.

We walked, we prayed, and then we waited.

The next day, the strike did indeed take place across the entire country of Peru—everywhere except in Huancayo. God demonstrated his power in a miraculous, mysterious way. There was no other explanation except for the power of prayer. I couldn't help but remember the story of how the Lord protected his people from one of the plagues sent on the Egyptians. In Exodus 10:20-23, God draped a thick blanket of darkness over all the land of Egypt but shielded his people with light so they could move about freely. Thousands of years later, he made a way for a small missions team to move through Huancayo even though the transportation strike restricted everyone else in the country. I'll never forget the miracle in Peru. It's another clear and constant reminder that God works in amazing, unexpected ways all over the world.

Peter Charpentier, a minister in Hammond, Louisiana, shares a story of how God used his youngest son to teach him a valuable lesson about prayer and the nature of God's presence:

One day I was leaving for work when my wife said she wasn't feeling well. After quizzing her for a moment to find out what was wrong, I decided I should take a personal day. But she insisted everything was fine and told me to go ahead with my plans.

As I was about to leave the house, I thought, Now is an excellent time to make sure my nine-year-old son knows how to call me in case of an emergency. So I asked him to come to our bedroom where I was making the bed. I sat him down and walked him through the simple process of calling my cell phone. To ensure he had retained the lesson and wouldn't have any trouble later on, I had him give it a try right there on the spot. I watched him dial my number from our home phone, my cell rang, I answered, and for just a minute or so, we had a nice, little conversation standing ten feet from one another in the same room.

After we wrapped up the conversation, my son left the room. Okay, I thought. If there's a problem while I'm gone, the little man-of-the-house can reach me. About three minutes later, my cell vibrated again, and when I glanced to check who it was that was calling, I saw my home phone number. Still standing in the bedroom, I answered the phone with a smile.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Dad," came the familiar voice. "I just wanted to call from the living room to make sure this phone works from far way!"

I chuckled and shared with my son that our house phone works very well. I told him that he could even call China from our phone if he wanted to—before making it immediately clear that he shouldn't call China!

The moment has since served as a gentle reminder for me about a simple truth we find in Scripture. When I walk through a valley, I sometimes wonder if God hears me. I feel "far away" from him. The same fear is stirred when I stray from God. I'm afraid he can't hear me because I've drifted too far. But I know prayer works even from "far away," because God always has his eyes on me no matter where I go. The Psalmist puts it this way: "You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar." (Psalm 139:2) It really doesn't matter where I go. Prayer works even from "far away."

Stillness is always a prerequisite for receptivity. Telephones and television sets cannot receive messages when they are too filled with static and noise. Stillness first, then listening. The order cannot be reversed. "Be still, and know that I am God," quotes the psalmist.

One of the most powerful expressions of this is found in Psalm 131:

O Lord, my heart is not lifted up,
my eyes are not raised too high ….
But I have calmed and quieted my soul,
like a weaned child with its mother;
my soul is like the weaned child that is with me.

An unweaned child is a noisy child. The unweaned child has learned that eventually noise leads to the satisfaction of its desires. Even if it doesn't, the noise itself appears to bring some relief. Or at least it makes others as miserable as the unweaned one.

The weaned child, however, has learned that the presence of the mother is about more than the immediate gratification of desire. The weaned child has become capable of stillness. The weaned child can have a whole new form of communication with the mother. The weaned child has entered into a whole new relationship with its mother. Now the mother is more than simply one who exists to satisfy need, to take away hunger. The mother can become a person, not just a need-meeter.

There is a catch, of course. Weaning is not a popular process. At least, not for the [one being weaned]. Children rarely volunteer for it because it is both costly and painful. Weaning means learning to live in stillness with unfulfilled desires. It is the mark of maturity.

The psalmist says this is a picture of my soul. I have learned to still my heart. There has been a spiritual weaning process so that I am no longer at the mercy of my desires and reflexes and demands. God is becoming more than just the Meeter of My Needs. I am entering into a new era listening. I have stilled my soul.