National Day of Prayer.

Does any one really believe prayer changes things? That He will really intervene in our nation’s affairs? That taking one day and using it for pray will really be useful?

It isn’t a new thing, this National Day of Prayer. I’m not just referring to it’s fifty seven year history. I recall and old, old story of the Jewish nation being on the verge on eradication, whose last resort was a day of prayer with an added two extra. Last resort? It should have been their first resort, if you’re aware of the victorious out come. People targeted for destruction by Haman, the forefather of Al Qaeda ,were given inner strength, resilience and hope. They didn’t let what appeared on the surface to be the end of their world, be the end of their world. They fought back! I wonder how many participants objected to picking up arms to save their families and way of life? Unfortunately the book of Ester doesn’t reveal those details. Just the fact that victory was quick and sweet. Retaliation, (self defense) only lasted a day or two then partying broke out, with celebration and worship. And giving of thanks to the source of their triumph. They got mad, they got prayerful, they got ready, they got even, they got over it. They never forgot it.

Do those truths apply today? They should. He is after all the same yesterday, today and tomorrow. Like taxes and death, He’s a certain constant factor in the events of history; a much more pleasant constant factor. A ready resource that shouldn’t just be used one day a year. I hope that the Day of National Prayer this May leaves such a good feeling people will carry it on to the other three hundred and sixty four days. After all, batteries need to be recharged to be efficient, recharging our souls regularly, daily, hourly, minutely, and secondly is vital to our success as a nation. We are to pray without ceasing. I’ve heard the adage that practice makes perfect, well it should be modified to “perfect practice makes perfect“. If we keep practicing our mistakes we just make perfect mistakes. If we perfect our prayers we make perfect decisions based on the Source that responds to our requests.

One of the admonitions of Purim (the holy day our Jewish brothers use to commemorate Ester’s heroism in saving her people) is to not read the story of Ester backwards. Meaning, don’t just read it as ancient history, irrelevant for contemporary applications. Well, if you are to any degree a philosopher, you should know that history has a tendency to repeat itself. In Ester’s day there were religious zealots bent on the destruction of other religions, thankfully we know that doesn’t happen today. We all live in peace and acceptance of each other’s views. Not. Just as a day, or two, or three, of prayer and fasting saved God’s faithful millennia ago, don’t you think he can do it now. Look at the World Trade Centers and see if Haman’s evil descendants have experienced success in destroying his foe. Not on your life. It encouraged a nation to band together and fight. To pray. To produce heroes, as on Flight 93, and all the participants of ground zero.

A Day of National Pray is a start. Don’t let it be a one time thing, or merely an annual thing. Make it habitual. We have been warned that He won’t listen to us if we just come to him only in times of trouble. He’ll inform us He has no idea who we are. Times of trouble are when we first meet lawyers and doctors. It shouldn’t be the first time we meet Him.

Ester 4:13-17
Ester 9:1-17
Ester 9:17-19
Isaiah 1:12-15

Buz

I’ve had Buz for fifteen years since he was three months old. I’ve watched him grow from a toddler to adolescent to married man to widow to centenarian in just one third of my life time. I disciplined him when he was young to keep him safe. I played with him to keep him close to me. I talked to him so he knew the sound of my voice. I cared for him so he’d know I was his master. I’m still in my prime and he’s got one foot on the banana peel.

He went deaf first. I thought that was horrible, not being able to hear the sound of my voice warning him of danger or calling him to eat. Yet, he compensated for his handicap. He learned sign language. When I waved him over he would trot towards me voice unheard. He knew who I was and that I was communicating with him so he didn't seem to really miss his ability to hear.
Dinner time? Not a problem, whenever I was just passing through the kitchen was dinner time as far as he was concerned. He could smell me peel a banana three rooms away. When ever I crossed to the pantry, refrigerator or sink he would be under my feet, sometimes literally, yapping for a hand out. You'd think he never got fed, he definitely never went hungry. He made his requests known and I honored them, many times before he even barked. I was always rewarded by his excitement, his eagerness to be near me. His gratitude expressed in wet sloppy kisses that I hungered for.

Then his sight started fading, he was 105 years old after all. He developed cataracts that obscured his vision and kept worsening. Every day I'd find him standing still in some room just looking ahead, not aware of anything around him, deaf and legally blind. I would walk over him and slightly caress his head and ears to make my presence known. He was never startled. He knew I was around somewhere. Even though his sight was poor he still followed my shadow from room to room. He'd wait by my treadmill as I worked out then follow me to the kitchen for his morning treat. Or should I say for his day long treats that were only interrupted by the night long naps I, his owner, took. Oh, by the way, he sleeps near me by my pillow and hence, my head, all night long, and yes, he snores.

One day Buz was outside barking, looking straight up at the sky with his tail wagging to beat the band. Nothing urgent was in his manner. He just stood on all fours patiently waiting for me to answer his summons. And, just as he expected I came. He caught me out of the corner of his eyes and his face turned in my direction. I lifted him and escorted him to the porch where I set him down and made sure he trotted straight ahead into the house. Once when I was negligent he veered to the right, toppled off the four foot high porch, landed on his nose on the concrete covered ground, cushioned by a leaf covered garden hose. I rushed to his side fearful he'd broken his neck. The seconds it took me to get to his side I administered self flagellation, how could I have been so lackadaisical. I picked him up and cradled him against my chest while he shook his head fiercely snorting to expel grass and dirt from his snout. Apparently he'd survived my negligence without giving my any lectures on my carelessness. I now no longer just settle him on the porch without being assured he goes straight into the house.

Deaf and blind he still enjoys life. He still wags his whole body in excitement at feeding time. He still looks forward to his times outside, in his familiar backyard. When he gets lost coming back to the house he just barks for me knowing I'll come. He just knows it beyond a doubt, that I’ll come without hesitation to point him in the correct direction if not carry him in my arms. He's never had any reason to doubt that I'll be there for him.

Too make a long story short, (oops, too late!) blind and death, he knows I’m there, that I’ll never let him down, (well maybe that once when he plummeted off the porch!) He learned this as he grew up. He remembers it in his declining years. He knows I’ll meet his needs for food, water, protection, that I’ll come when he calls if he is just persistent in summoning me. He has blind faith, and even though he can’t hear my voice he knows how to read my signs, or he did until his vision got clouded with cataracts. Isn’t that how our relationship with God should be? He watches us grow and teaches us things along the way so that in our declining years we can have a relationship that is secure, built on a lifetime of experiences. Our lives are much less than one third of God’s existence as it takes a thousand years to make a day for him, yet we are still important to him.