I woke up in the middle of dawn. I didn’t know what had awakened me. Though feeling half-asleep, it hit me that I had forgotten to pray that night. And so, I bowed down my head and talked to God whom I suspect was the culprit for having interrupted my sleep. And then, I felt peace. After I prayed, I dozed off.
When I was young, I was taught by my parents that you could talk to God through prayer. Adding to this, you could also present your wishes to God which had the chance of being granted depending on how you have behaved that day. These ideas gave me the impression that prayer is something that costs quite an effort. It was something that you work for—that you needed to please God in order for your wants and wishes to be granted by him. It didn’t take too long when I was by and by setting aside my prayer life. My eagerness to pray waned. I just thought that God was too demanding. Pleasing anyone even God was just not my forte.
As I grew up, my prayer life changed as the way my image of God changed. There came a time when I experienced God as a loving person who understood and accepted me as I am. During this time, God became my confidante. My prayers were then opportunities of ventilating to God my struggles and problems in life. Most of the time, I was the one talking to him, telling him my thoughts, reflections and inner yearnings in life. From an image of a God who wanted to be pleased, I knew Him now as a friend who listens and journeys along with me in life. This would be then my attitude and understanding of prayer in my early years in the seminary.
Yet there still came a time when I began to lose my habit of praying. This was particularly true when I had a teaching job. Living outside the walls of the seminary meant detachment from a structured prayer life. Before I knew it, my appreciation and love for prayer were then slipping away. In times of being unable to pray, I justified myself that I was either too busy or exhausted from work. I knew for myself that these were half-meant or even not totally true. They were alibis to veil the startling truth that I just refused to talk to God anymore. But even in the times of my “turning away” from God, I still suspected that He was constantly extending Himself, making His presence felt in my seemingly preoccupied and restless life. I would wake up in the middle dawn having forgotten to pray the night before. He wanted to reconnect. It dawned on me that I felt the same.
Recently, I realize that one of the reasons why I came back to the seminary is to befriend again the God who I thought I lost. Just as my relationship with God has its ups and downs, so too is my prayer life. If I am to describe what my prayer life is like at this moment, it will be like this: A young man is digging up a treasure that he has buried before in his earlier years. The digging is quite laborious and is taking long. He begins feeling anxious and worried. The treasure might not be there already. Someone might have stumbled upon it and kept it for himself. He might be digging in a wrong spot. But his hope never fades. His faith tells him to go on. Until he finally finds what he is looking for. He finds the treasure. He is elated, overwhelmed by the feeling of joy. He clutches the treasure with his hand as if it is his most prized possession. He ponders the value of his treasure and savors that very moment.
Prayer for me today means pondering God’s presence. Now, I keep myself still and let myself be in awe and amazement at this great and unfathomable God. Not much talking and thinking is required, only loving. His friendship is the treasure I once buried, but now I so cherish. And somehow, I can’t help myself but to share this treasure to others as well.
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