Pray, pray, pray

Prayer. When I think of my way of life before I came to Christ, it seems strange to me that I love prayer as much as I do. What I mean is, it is a clear sign to me that God has really done something in my life, has worked some change, because the attitude of prayer, the basis of prayer, really has no antecedent in my non-Christian life. I can’t really account for it other than prayer is what you do as a Christian, and God has really poured a lot of the gift of prayer into my life.

A few weeks ago, we had an overnight prayer meeting. 4 sets of praise and worship music, reading the Book of Revelation out loud, focused prayer. It was amazing, from 10 p.m. to 4 a.m. Over the course of the night, 25 people joined us; 13 stayed for the whole thing. Amazing. Something really broke through; Satan has been working overtime since then.

Y’all know how partial I am to Jessie. She is cute as a button. She took on a big job marrying me— becoming a mom immediately to two grieving boys, getting thrown into church life, ministering by my side, keeping up with her international missions. But the best thing about Jessie: her grandfather and another woman in the Lutheran church she grew up in met together once a week to pray for her when she was a child up to when her grandfather could no longer get out much. Those prayers availed much. And I can’t help but be humbled when I think that I am married to someone who was covered with so much loving prayer. Who am I to deserve her? We should always pray and never give up.

Leonard Ravenhill in Revival Praying shares a powerful anecdote about the great Scottish pastor Robert Murray McCheyne. McCheyne was a saintly, beloved pastor, a powerful preacher, one who was known for his praying. He was, incidentally, engaged to a woman named… Jessie… but he died tragically before they could be married. McCheyne was well-known and sought after, but turned down many lucrative offers because no church could offer him what he wanted: time to pray as much as the church he pastored in Dundee allowed him. The story is told that shortly after his death, a visitor stopped by the church, and the sexton showed him around. The sexton led the visitor to the desk where McCheyne used to pray. He had the guest sit down. “Now, put your elbows on the table and your head in your hands. Now let the tears flow. That was how Mr. McCheyne used to do it!” He led him in to the sanctuary and had him stand at the puplit. “Now put your elbows on the pulpit. Put your face in your hands and let the tears flow! That was was how Mr. McCheyne used to do it!”

A key theme in my spiritual life lately has been desperation. Where is it? Why do I not have it? For my church? For its foolish squabbles? For the families crushed by crisis? For my unbelieving neighbors? For the straying kids of believers? Without tears of desperation, we can expect nothing.

Then my friend Vaughn called. There was a torrent of words in him and as soon as he started speaking, then the tears flowed. Ah, the Holy Spirit was active by cell phone between Lexington and Rush, KY.