Preventative Maintenance - How I learned to appreciate my least favorite prayer request.

Question: If you went to my fifth grade Sunday School class, what would you say if you couldn't think of a prayer request?

Answer: I don't read my Bible or pray enough.

Believe me, this happened all the time. I could be wrong, but I'm pretty sure there was a Sunday where this was the only prayer request anyone had at the end of the meeting. Two things about this request made me cringe every time I heard it. One, it didn't really sound like a request.

Them: "I don't read my Bible enough."
Me: "Yeah? I forgot to brush my teeth this morning. Let's pray."

Two, I wondered if it was entirely honest. Not in the sense where I thought these kids read their Bible or prayed all the time and simply lied. I mean I used to feel there was something bigger they wanted to share, but were too embarrassed to do so.

Now that I've said all that, I feel comfortable telling you this. I don't feel like I read my Bible or pray enough. If I were in a prayer circle right now, I would give it as my request. Before my house caved in last Spring, I used to have a morning routine of reading a few chapters and praying for 10-20 minutes before work. But after the Disaster and having my way of life uprooted, I lost the rhythm of my routines.

Last night, I thought about the Disaster and how I felt the presence of God throughout the turmoil. It helped my wife and I endure the hardest trial we had faced as a couple. I realize it's not the routine I miss, but the regularity of coming into God's presence. So even though I do read the Bible and pray, I want more interaction with the Holy Spirit in the prayer and study.

From now on, I'll try to think of my least favorite prayer request as preventative maintenance. Hard times will come, but I want to feel secure in my new life in Jesus when they come.

My Perfectly Good Explanation.

Woah.

Okay, let me explain. About a month ago, as my wife and I slept, a crashing sound woke us. It had stormed all day (the same storm that rocked Alabama), so we assumed it was thunder. But then my wife says, "Why does it sound like it's raining inside of our house?" Walking into the living room, I saw that about a third of the kitchen ceiling had caved in and water poured all over our kitchen table.

Goodbye Bibles, goodbye prayer journal. Blurg.

As I stared into the kitchen chaos, the living room ceiling fell. For a moment, both my wife and I thought that maybe the big tree in our backyard had crashed through the roof. It was that loud.

And so began the craziest month I've had since moving to Nashville. We lost some stuff. We had to move out of our home and find a new place to live. We slept on futons and air mattresses in our friend's spare rooms. We daydreamt about having our own kitchen and some time alone.

Now, I've learned plenty about God in the midst of this ordeal, but I want to hear from you (it's been so long, right?) before I jump into a homily. Have any of you gone through crazy stuff like this and wondered if God was sleeping on the clock or had in some anti-septic religious sentiment decided you were too happy and needed a stiff dose of Old Testament suffering?

Have you looked up and asked "what the hell? Why me?"

It's okay. This is a safe place. You can be honest.

As a bonus, I'd like for you to hear a song I wrote before my home disaster, monstrous tornadoes in the south and midwest, or people recently expecting the rapture.

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