It was late October and just a few weeks after my niece passed away. After I returned back to Redding from the funeral, my roommate and I had just one month to find a new place to live. Day after day we searched for apartments and houses and before we knew it, we had just over a week before we had to have our stuff out of our apartment. It was stressful and frustrating as each place we felt had potential continued to fall through for various reasons.
We had just gotten news, once again, that the place we wanted was no longer available. I called a close friend and began sharing with her how I felt overwhelmed at the thought of being homeless and I was considering paying a visit to findmeasugardaddy.com to see if some lonely millionaire needed company.
“Ok, I am going to get off the phone right now and pray and see what God says” she replied.
I left out a little laugh and thought “well what good is that?”
The thought came and went to quickly and naturally that I almost missed it. I hung up the phone and I thought about what had just happened in my heart when she mentioned prayer. As I sat in my car I said out loud, “God, I stopped believing you hear my prayers.”
My heart had been so broken and let down after we lost Abby. It was 11 months of constant and continual prayer for her healing. Most nights, I would wake up just to roll over and my first thought would be, “Lord, please heal Abby.”
For eleven months, there wasn’t a moment where I wasn’t praying. When we lost Abby, I lost belief in prayer.
I began to think back over the weeks that had passed since Abby had passed. It’s not that I had stopped praying, but I stopped believing that my prayers would do anything. Prayer, in my heart, became almost like a wish. I would say the things I wanted to say and ask the things I wanted to ask and just hope that maybe, maybe God will get around to hearing them if I’m lucky.
As I sat in my car outside my apartment, I closed my eyes. I knew that I had a choice to make. I could continue on my life with the belief that my prayers don’t matter; viewing my chances of having my prayers answered in the same way I viewed winning the lottery. That would be the easy choice. Or, I could look at the defeat I was facing in the eyes and say, “You do not have a say anymore.”
Do I still have moments when I feel afraid that my prayers aren’t being heard? Absolutely. But I refuse to allow defeat come between me and my maker any longer.
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