A Praying Life.

The Power of a Praying Wife. A Praying Friend. A Praying Parent. A Praying Church. A Praying Life.

There are books in a series, or written by another hand, that correspond with the same lingo, the same emotion, the same distinction: The Power of Praying.

This past summer, Trish and I read A Praying Life, by Paul E. Miller. More than all the thoughts, quotes, stories, and scriptures, the book was a reminder to me of the power of prayer. The purpose of prayer. The necessity of prayer.

And then with the words, the Truth, the conviction, came the simple ability to have eyes to see... prayer. To peel away the layers of self-dependence and independence and coincidence and futility of myself, and see prayer be present.

To see God hold back a Saturday storm while our boat rocked and our skin tanned. To see God issue parking spaces by Belk while Mark drove in circles. To see God provide a Prayer Chair with money banked to me that very week. To have December weekends filled, a Handyman in my front yard, nights of sleep fulfilled, and Inklings in the corner.

I have seen the Power of Prayer. In small ways, in big ways, in miracle ways. I have seen my prayer muscles strengthened and built, muscles flexed like the Stockbridge Boiler Room, or daily divine like Son-Life Camp, or intimate like Mexico missions. But I have also seen them loose and lackadaisical, like the last week or two.

This morning as I sit here and am reminded to pray. Am reminded of the purpose and presence and power of... a praying life.