my father's eyes

I thought about my father's faith today. If you've ever met my dad, you'd know that he is a very devout man. He prays morning, noon, and night. He doesn't give up a single chance to witness to folks, even to his own kids - who by the way are both believers.

My father has had a prayer request for about 35 years. Yes, that's right; for 35 years, my father had made the same entreaty - every morning, every day, every night. And for 35 years, he has not gotten the satisfaction he's hoped for.

It has gotten me thinking about prayer again, especially the sort that don't get answered to our satisfaction.

Sometimes it feels like praying is an excuse. If I've prayed about a situation, I've handed it over to God. Anything that happens after that is God's responsibility.

Sometimes it feels like praying is a conditioned habit. My friend's mother is dying. I say a couple of mindless phrases to God on her behalf; no emotion, no desire. I do it because it makes me feel good to know that I said a prayer like I promised.

More lately, I've been feeling like prayer is a bit like therapy. A therapist listens and empathizes. She may give me a fresh point-of-view on a situation; she may even make some suggestions on what I can do to modify or improve it. But a good therapist, rarely tries to intervene. That would strip me of both free will and accountability. A good therapist knows that it's still up to me to live my life with compassion, courage, integrity, justice, and love. And it's still up to me to accept that life doesn't move according to my own plans and desires.

There's a great peace in knowing that God can do all things, and a great awe in knowing that God will not do all things. But I think that's hard for most of us. If God is so powerful, why don't things magically get better?

In related news, life has been phenomenally good lately. It hasn't been easy (for several reasons), yet it's been really really good.