(February 17, 2014)
I never used to understand the idea of “wrestling” with God, but I feel like I am beginning to. Once upon a time, my prayers were rather meaningless things – I was ask for something or say thanks for something, and then get into bed and forget the whole experience. It perhaps wasn’t quite that bad, but memory makes it look worse in retrospect.
But lately, in a time of significant need, I have learned what it means (in part) to wrestle with God. To beg, to plead, and to desperately call upon Heaven in hopes of reaching the ear of our Father. I have felt the exhaustion that accompanies such prayers – I feel much the way that I did at the conclusion of a basketball practice. I can imagine that people back in the times of the scriptures would have identified with feeling as they did when they wrestled. Worn out – exhausted and empty.
And yet, it is such a remarkable thing to look back and to see the progress that comes from a serious effort in prayer. I have had prayers answered – rarely in the way that I would like, but always in the way that I need. I have learned more about my Father through such prayers – by actually engaging or ‘wrestling’ with God rather than sending a message in a bottle – that I could have hoped for a year ago.