The Prayer Vigil

I grew up in a small town.  My dad was a pastor.  My mom had been a teacher, but by the time I arrived she was a full-time pastor’s wife.  From the earliest I can remember my parents were determined that my siblings and I would grow up as “normal” kids and not preacher’s kids.  That was their desire, anyway.  But they weren’t “normal” parents.  They led by example.  

We always prayed at mealtime.  Even in restaurants.  We kids would cautiously look around the restaurant to make sure none of our classmates were present every time we ate out.  Hoping no one was there to see how weird our family was.  Mom and Dad were a lot of things, but being showy wasn’t one of them.  We prayed in restaurants because we prayed at every meal wherever we were.  It was never loud or attention seeking.  It was a part of who they were.  Who we were.

Whenever we came to them with issues, whether it was a bully or an opportunity, their response was invariably, “Well, pray about it and see what comes to you.”  Simple. In all that you do.  Start with prayer.  Take it to your Creator, who has a perfect plan in mind for you.  

Prayer was the norm in our house. And I never really thought about it, and certainly never struggled with it, until the summer of my 14th year.

There was a man in my hometown who, in retrospect, I think probably felt threatened by my dad.  He started telling lies.  Even from the pulpit.  And people believed him.  People who I thought should have known better.  It hurt my parents.  And seeing their hurt infuriated me.  

I became angry.  I wanted to humiliate the man, to strip him in public, to expose his lies.  I was indignant, enraged.  I hated him.  He ripped holes, or tried to rip holes, in my parents’ reputation and I wanted him to pay. I wanted to get lawyers involved. And of course underneath that anger was the question, as old as humanity, “Why is God allowing this to happen?”

One summer afternoon my parents called us all to the living room to talk. My two older siblings were in college by then, but were home for the summer.  Mom and Dad said that our family was going to have a prayer vigil.  

We had never done anything like this before.

They explained that we were going to pray for a 24-hour period for the man who was spreading lies about our dad. 

I was stunned.  My parents were crazy.  

We would take turns, they said.  We would each be responsible for a 3-hour block of time during this 24-hour period. As the youngest, I would have a block of time in the afternoon.  Mom and Dad would take the late night hours.

What, exactly, was expected of us, I asked.  

Mom and Dad said that we were to pray for the man.  For his family.  For whatever his needs were.  For God to heal whatever needed healing in his life.  For God to restore him.  For God to protect him and his family.  And for God to help us to love and forgive him.

But I didn’t want to love him.  And I certainly had no plans to forgive him.  I could feel myself squirming inwardly at the thought of having to pray for him.  I respected my parents.  But they were crazy if they thought I needed to pray for this man.  Nobody else’s parents made them do things like this. Why was our family always having to do weird stuff like this?

I didn’t say much.  None of us did.  I did ask what would happen, hypothetically, if one of us didn’t really pray for the man when we were supposed to.

“Nothing will happen,” Dad said.  He went on to say that we were simply praying for this man.  For a full 24 hours.

“Just pray whatever is on your hearts,” Mom added.

Yeah.  I still didn’t want to.  And I was pretty sure God already knew what was on my heart and probably wasn’t delighted about what was there.

The day of the prayer vigil arrived. It was a beautiful, sunny, summer day and I decided I would lay out in the sun on the back deck while I covered my shift. At least I could get tan during those three hours. So the time wouldn’t be entirely wasted.

At first I prayed rigidly.  Empty words through clenched teeth.  But, as is often the case for me, the more I prayed the more honest I got.  I told God how angry I was.  I told God how hard it was to see my parents hurt.  I told God that they had always been faithful in all that they did, and that it angered me that God was allowing this to happen to them. I told God that I was disappointed in people.  Adults. People who should have known better. People whom I had lost respect for.  I started to cry.  I told God that someday I would like to look this man in the eye and dare him to look back. 

I thought about the man’s kids.  And thanked God that I had the parents I had.  Not parents who lied about other people.  I had parents I could respect.  I was thankful for that.  And I asked God to protect the man and his family, and to help him to see the hurts he was causing.  

By the time my shift was over I had even asked God to help me forgive him, I guess. Which kind of shocked me.

Our family completed the 24-hour prayer vigil.  Nothing Earth-shattering occurred.  Certainly nothing miraculous.  The lies still continued for a time.  Though eventually they were stopped.  The man ended up moving a little later and I never knew what happened to him after that.  

I was still angry at him for a while. But the tiniest bit of compassion had begun to sprout. I could allow myself to feel badly for him, and for his family. And for the first time since it had all started I began to see that it wasn’t my family who was being harmed by his lies. Our family was actually just fine.

It wasn’t until years later, long after I’d become an adult, that I wondered if maybe that was exactly what my parents had in mind all along. For God to take this burden from us and to heal us. For God to be present in all of our circumstances. To be in us and with us. In all things.

Healing did occur.  And I think for me it actually began that day of the family prayer vigil. Miraculously.  

As for Mom and Dad, it’s possible that they failed.  They didn’t really raise us to be “normal” kids.  And we never were a “normal” family. We had parents who led by example.  Every day. Parents who in every circumstance started with prayer.  Inviting God to be present.  Knowing that God had a perfect plan for each one of us.  And that prayer vigil, that was just like any other day for Mom and Dad.

Mom and Dad:  Well done. And thank you.