“Dear Jesus.”
This is maybe the first full phrase I learned to speak in my household. Like learning to walk, say my alphabet, or count to ten, folding my hands and closing my eyes was central to my upbringing. So why is something so basic such a source of insecurity?
In Sabbath School, we were told that Jesus should be our best friend. I took this to heart. Best friends talk about everything. Prayer, from the beginning, was a conversation. Prayer was me sharing my fears and what I was excited about. Prayer was me venting my anger or asking for advice. Prayer was expressing concerns or gushing about a good thing I had going at the moment. And always, prayer was personal. Supremely so.
As a teenager when it was time to question everything, I certainly did. Specifically, many of my questions seemed to swirl around prayer. What started as an eyebrow raised at the formal knees bowed, eyes closed, King James English diction became a serious theological query for me. Once on a ride home in the car, I ventured to broach the topic with my pastor-father. I have to give him credit here. My dad was probably the most approachable guy when it came to taboo topics. With decades of youth ministry under his belt, he was a tough guy to rattle. As his kid, though, there were sometimes things I discovered were harder for him to hear from me than from my peers. This was one of those things. And I fully blame my approach for his response. Always one for shock value, I came right out and said, “Dad, I think prayer is kind of ridiculous.” Our conversation turned into a sort of debate rather than what I’d really wanted out of it at that moment. And from this encounter, including a lot of the messaging I was getting from my Bible classes and at church, I internalized a lot that led me to think for a long time that maybe my way of thinking on this topic would get me into trouble. So I did what good church people of a certain age do: repress.
The more I thought about it as I got older, the more sense my thoughts on the subject made to me. If You are our best friend and prayer is a conversation, why the pretense? Why the ceremony? Why the routine of before meals and before bed and sandwiched between every transition that happens in church? And if You are part of me or within me or hear my every thought, what can I tell You that You don’t already know? When I recount my day or my problems or the litany of requests I have, does it feel to You like that aging aunt who is yet again telling a story You’ve heard 200 times? How is that a deep or meaningful connection? Is that how I’m supposed to talk to a best friend?
These questions have become so pervasive that I’ve found myself downright uncomfortable with public prayer. And often this is seen as a reflection of the caliber or even existence of my faith. In recent years, I’ve been so blessed with the people You’ve placed in my life who have spoken affirmation into me that questions are not an indication of faithlessness. And these affirmations have given me the freedom to ask more questions. They’ve opened the doors to a deeper sort of relationship. The questions about the method of prayer only scratch the surface for me. I have so many more.
Some say the key to a successful relationship is to never stop talking. I’d like to place an addendum to that for You and me: never stop seeking. Seeking through connection, through questions, through deeper understanding–this is prayer to me. A deeply personal conversation between best friends who might sometimes miss the mark with each other, but always continue to authentically know the other.
I guess I just want to say thanks for always giving me the space to do that. Thanks for being so big that seeking is a lifelong process and the act of knowing You never gets boring.
Lynsey Mize is a crochet enthusiast, wife, and mom of two girls who teaches high school English in her spare time.