Some people feel like their prayers don’t get through the ceiling. The prayers just sort of float up there and gather on the horizontal drywall. Lately, I’ve been praying that angels would take sledge hammers to roofs. If your home starts leaking…Please don’t blame me.
I learned something valuable in my well-worn 27 years. My prayer life is a desperate one. Prayer is becoming a reflex for me. It’s funny, you’d think that the older you get the more experienced at life you’d be. But no. The older you get, the bigger the responsibilities, requirements, trials, and enemies. Lately the weight of all these things have been closing in on me. So my posture has been one of grabbing fists full of carpet, and yelling at the floor. David (the shepherd boy made into King) once wrote, “I am worn out from groaning; all night long I flood my bed with weeping and drench my couch with tears.”
People cope with life in different ways. The dictionary defines to “cope” as: To contend with difficulties and act to overcome them. It’s funny, the way most people try to cope is to do something to make themselves feel better for the time-being, but it doesn’t “act to overcome them”…it just makes a bigger hole than the original one. This has given, what I believe is, only half meaning of the word in the US culture. Prayer is coping, in it’s full meaning. I have no chance at overcoming the overcomable, but God can. So I pray. And He keeps tabs whether I’m yelling them at the floor or screaming them at the ceiling. David also said, “You have taken account of my wanderings; Put my tears in Your bottle; Are they not in Your book?”
Pray. You’ll be surprised how affective it is.