I don’t pray enough. There are seasons and seasons. When I feel powerless, vulnerable actually, afraid, when I’m needy, that’s when prayer pours out of me like a mountain spring: fresh, abundant, unfiltered, unabridged.
Ever since I can remember, prayer has given me independence, healing, peace.
I do it for myself. It feels good. It’s cathartic first and foremost. I believe. Yet as I pray I give all to God and not worry about the response. I lay on the altar my heart’s desire and open my hands. Then I’m at peace. Even in the midst of sickness, pain or of the unknown. Be whatever might be. I let go and that is freeing.
The words are powerful though just as much I realize. As I pray alongside Jaclyn, she listens and internalizes my belief. Our belief. And it changes her. I see how she internalizes decisions, healthy decisions, not because I tell her to do them directly, but as we pray about them.
But beyond that, the power of prayer has taken me by surprise. More so in recent years. As I experienced first hand its power like a current, like powerful a wind changing direction.
One example: At the beginning of this summer in Budapest, Conrad dropped us off in a rush at the Airbnb and left to park. The traffic was insane. Our phones hasn’t activated roaming yet, so I could t reach him. Two hours had passed and thus my prayers intensified. I started to imagine all kinds of crazy scenarios. Eventually he shows up exhausted but cheerful. and tells me the story of finding parking for the car. Crazy detours, one way streets blocked, impossible passages. I tell him I prayed intensely for him as I was very worried. To which he replies: “Thank you. I felt inexplicable peace and calm through the city rush hours, navigating blindly.” All this was after 8 hours of driving all the way from Romania.