A desperate, non-religious prayer*

It was the summer of 2000, and I was going through the worst time of my life. I was devastated over something that was just breaking my heart and was beyond my control to change. We’ve all been through some hurts and disappointments, but this was more than that. I call it “devastation”, because my world as I knew it had come to an end. I will spare the details for now, except to say that I had suffered such loss that I didn’t want to go on. If you’ve been there, you know what I am trying to say. If you haven’t, no words can describe it to you anyhow.

I was sitting in the swing on my back porch overlooking the woods on a Saturday morning. The birds were singing, but my heart had no song. I had cried all the tears I could cry, and I had begged, pleaded, and literally screamed to no avail. I had been unsuccessful in my attempts to manipulate God, promising that I would “do anything if only…”, and had gone through phases of denial, anger, self-pity, bargaining, and all the other steps of handling grief, and it seemed I was just getting worse. I settled into a deep hopelessness. I was at the proverbial “end of my rope”, and if the rope hadn’t been proverbial I think I would have tied it around my neck.

On that occasion, dark as it was, something special happened to me that morning. It started with what I suppose you could call a prayer, although it was not a religious prayer. It would not make the list of any great prayers that I ever heard. I have prayed fancy prayers before, often in church. I have prayed some prayers that sounded so spiritual they could have elevated me to sainthood! How effective they were is doubtful. But this simple, desperate prayer was nothing that would impress them in church. The prayer was short but not sweet. It went like this: “Okay, God, what in *#%*@># am I supposed to do now?”

In my exhausted and wounded soul I didn’t really expect an answer. But then, very distinctly, there was a still, small voice whispering softly to my angry, bitter, destroyed heart. It said, “You can be thankful.”

“Thankful?” I said aloud, as if to say “You’ve got to be kidding! What kind of cruel joke is this to me? What do I have to be thankful for?”

There was no other reply. I knew that God was not going to argue with me. (Let me stop here to say that I do not hear God talking to me all the time. I am very suspicious of anybody who says that they have two-way conversations with the Lord, as one lady I knew who said God always told her what groceries to buy, and even which brands! I feel the same way about evangelists who advertise “miracles and healings” in their meetings. I don’t believe God does these great things so predictably on cue that you can put it on your schedule!)

So,having heard what I heard, and still feeling very hurt and bitter, I sarcastically began to verbally express “thankfulness”. “Okay, God, there’s a stupid bird in the tree, chirping away. Thank you for the stupid bird!” (Nothing but silence as my sarcasm filled the air.)

“Okay, this is great. Thank you for the stupid tree that the stupid bird is sitting in.” (So far so good, I may have thought. No great miracle here, but I might be feeling about one percent better.) “Okay, thank you that I have eyes to see that stupid bird, and ears to hear its stupid song! Is that better?”

It continued on like that, but each expression of thankfulness increased in sincerity, had a little less sarcasm, and came out a little easier. “Thank you for my hand that I can use to point at that bird. Thank you that I still have five fingers on each hand. Thank you for my mind, so that I can know that it is a bird, and a tree, and a hand, etc.”

It had not taken long. It was still morning. I was still hurting badly, but now I was saying “thank you for the swing, and the porch, and the door, and for my feet, and for the sweet old dog that came to see me. And thank you, Lord, that you haven’t changed, you haven’t been surprised by all of this, you are still in control, and you still love me more than I could imagine, and far more than I could ever deserve. Oh Lord, you really have been good to me in lots of ways, and I just want to thank you!”

It’s hard to imagine how it happened, but this practice of simply saying the words of thanks, even when I didn’t mean them, resulted in a drastic change! The same hands that had been balled up into a fist of defiance were now being lifted up in praise, and the same voice that had uttered complaint and cursing was now extolling the glory and greatness of the Lord!

It was then that I learned that praise and thanksgiving really is not for God, who is secure and doesn’t need it. Praise and giving of thanks is for us! It gives strength in the midst of suffering, puts everything in a positive context, and dramatically transforms our attitude. It did for me that day, during the most awful time of my life.

The bad times indeed are painful, and some of them are horrible. I am not discounting that. I still cried a lot, and sometimes I still do. We should never flippantly tell a person who is hurting to “just cheer up and praise the Lord.” That’s a good way to get your arm broken! But when you really think that you can’t go on any more, please remember that He is there. He knows all about it. And He cares enough to bring you through in one piece, even better than you were.

No matter how bad it may be, you can be thankful for a lot of things. I have it on the highest authority.