How long, O Lord?

 

"How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever"
How long will you hide your face from me?" Psalm 13:1

Typically, I do not write about "current events."  (Maybe, they wore me out in middle and high school).  My sojourn through grief, loss, and its aftermath following Courtney's untimely death continues the paralysis of denial and anger, mostly in fits and starts.  I've learned not to calibrate recovery on a scale of 1 to 10.  Nor can I predict when the emotional rollercoaster of grief will execute a double twist and whirl, then stop abruptly. The "current event" of Courtney's death still pulsates.

However, the back story of this heart change can be traced back a little over three years.  After blogging for some months and receiving feedback only from Jan and Sherry, I decided to scan the statistics notesfromabrokenheart.blogspot.com collects. The data revealed hundreds of readers in Ukraine?  Ukraine? What? 

My mind puckered as I realized, not that Ukraine readers read me. Instead, I stood amazed that anyone other than my two Besties did!  Until now, I have chosen not to write about senseless, depraved, and self-serving violence that seems to blanket the world (Russia, are you listening?).  I especially chose not to spotlight the United States of America, the land of the free and home of the brave.  Until now.

(By the way, people all over Europe, South America, the Middle East, and here at home, ALSO had been reading me since I'd first started blogging). Wow!  Thank you one and all for validation!

Initially, I'd decided not to publicly react to the murders of 10 African Americans, mostly comprised of "Elders" as most of them were, who'd lived in Buffalo, New York but died in a supermarket. Nor would I comment on the three injured in the massacre.  Too raw and too close, although not geographically, for dispassion, I had reasoned.  The racial tumult of the past 60-plus months needed no stoking.  I simply did what I'd learned to do.  Just pray.  (Grand) Mama would say, "Take your burdens to the Lord, baby, and leave them there!"

Pray for everybody! Yet, just seven days after Buffalo, Uvalde happened! NO! NO! LORD, NO! Nineteen babies, two teachers, and one husband succumbed to a broken heart two days after his wife was murdered.  NO! NO! NO, LORD!

I know the "who, what, when, where" of a lead paragraph in the "breaking news story."  The "why" may never be (made) known.  Finger-pointing, blaming, equivocating, ducking, and dodging seem futile.  Stronger actions than these kinds of mealy-mouthed responses must be undertaken.  Actions requiring muscle, determination, decision-making, and bipartisanship could serve as beginning activities.

Prayer can be defined as me talking directly to God our Creator. In no way am I diminishing National Days of Prayer or congregational prayer.  Rather,  I believe the dunamis power, force, or ability of just one individual prayer can be measured by the intensity and scope of its results.   When I pray, my heart, spirit, and mind join together with God and synergy happens.  

Skeptics and agnostics may decry my belief.  Clearly, I'm not talking to them or any naysayers, for that matter.  Prayer engages God's omnipotence, omniscience, and omnipresence, and the world must change! I do not refer to rote prayers or self-centered ones.  From-the-heart and deep-in-the-belly prayers work!  Prayers produce fruit!

Prayer connects people viscerally, heart to heart, and eradicates the exhaustion many feel from the slag of hate, hatefulness, and hopelessness.  I speak to the Love within each of us, whether or not we've been introduced to Him.  In turn, He speaks through the Apostle Paul in 1 Corinthians 13, and John the disciple in chapter 10, verse 30, among numerous other voices and places in the Word. 

I remember attending a Wednesday night Service on the outskirts of Las Vegas years ago.  The sole activity, payers and praying, consumed us.  Some people prayed for specific promises, problems, or predicaments. Others offered brief supplications and thanksgiving, while most requests erupted from lips overwhelmed with anguish.  Many presented tear-stained faces that spoke volumes.  All prayers ended with a variation of, "In the name of Jesus.  Amen."  All of us left the prayer service with lighter steps and buoyant hearts.

America, prayer still works!