A Praying Life: Connecting with God in a Distracting World

by Paul E. Miller

I did my best parenting by prayer. I began to speak less to the kids and more to God.

This is the exact opposite of Eastern mysticism, which is a psychospiritual technique that disengages from relationship and escapes pain by dulling self. Eastern mystics are trying to empty their minds and become one with the nonpersonal “all.” But as Christians we realize we can’t cure ourselves, so we cry out to our Father, our primary relationship.

Instead of fighting anxiety, we can use it as a springboard to bending our hearts to God.

What does an unused prayer link look like? Anxiety. Instead of connecting with God, our spirits fly around like severed power lines, destroying everything they touch. Anxiety wants to be God but lacks God’s wisdom, power, or knowledge.

We become anxious when we take a godlike stance, occupying ourselves with things too great for us.

Instead of hunting for the perfect spiritual state to lift you above the chaos, pray in the chaos.

The opposite of a childlike spirit is a cynical spirit.

Cynicism and defeated weariness have this in common: They both question the active goodness of God on our behalf.

The movement from naive optimism to cynicism is the new American journey. In naive optimism we don’t need to pray because everything is under control, everything is possible. In cynicism we can’t pray because everything is out of control, little is possible.

Jesus keeps in tension wariness about evil with a robust confidence in the goodness of his Father.

We are to combine a robust trust in the Good Shepherd with a vigilance about the presence of evil in our own hearts and in the hearts of others.

The feel of a praying life is cautious optimism—caution because of the Fall, optimism because of redemption.

When you pray, you are touching the hopeful heart of God.

Nothing undercuts cynicism more than a spirit of thankfulness.

A significant source of cynicism is the fracture between my heart and my behavior. It goes something like this: My heart gets out of tune with God, but life goes on. So I continue to perform and say Christian things, but they are just words. I talk about Jesus without the presence of Jesus. There is a disconnect between what I present and who I am. My words sound phony, so other’s words sound phony too. In short, my empty religious performance leads me to think that everyone is phony. The very thing I am doing, I accuse others of doing. Adding judgment to hypocrisy breeds cynicism.

Repentance brings the split personality together and thus restores integrity to the life.

What do I lose when I have a praying life? Control. Independence. What do I gain? Friendship with God. A quiet heart. The living work of God in the hearts of those I love. The ability to roll back the tide of evil. Essentially, I lose my kingdom and get his.

Suffering is God’s gift to make us aware of our contingent existence. It creates an environment where we see the true nature of our existence—dependent on the living God.

If you are going to enter this divine dance we call prayer, you have to surrender your desire to be in control, to figure out how prayer works. You’ve got to let God take the lead. You have to trust. Then God will delight you, not only with the gift of himself but also with parking places, pajamas, poured milk, and Pathfinders. No one works like him!

By first taking the beam out of his own eye (see Matthew 7:1-5), the husband releases in his wife’s life the unseen energy of the Spirit.

Oddly enough, idolizing our emotions doesn’t free us to be ourselves but instead results in us being ruled by the ever-changing wind of feelings. We become a thousand selves or, to use Jesus’ words, “a reed shaken by the wind” (Matthew 11:7).

Self-will and prayer are both ways of getting things done. At the center of self-will is me, carving a world in my image, but at the center of prayer is God, carving me in his Son’s image.

It is surprising how seldom books on parenting talk about prayer.

God takes everyone he loves through a desert. It is his cure for our wandering hearts, restlessly searching for a new Eden.

Desert life sanctifies you. You have no idea you are changing. You simply notice after you’ve been in the desert awhile that you are different.

You cry out to God so long and so often

that a channel begins to open up between you and God. When driving, you turn off the radio just to be with God. At night you drift in and out of prayer when you are sleeping. Without realizing it, you have learned to pray continuously. The clear, fresh water of God’s presence that you discover in the desert becomes a well inside your own heart.

When we don’t receive what we pray for or desire, it doesn’t mean that God isn’t acting on our behalf. Rather, he’s weaving his story.

The church prays well for people who suffer if the person has a clear diagnosis with an end in sight. But if the diagnosis isn’t clear or if it is endless, the church tends to get overwhelmed. In other words, when it becomes real suffering, we don’t pray!