Talking To God

Ihave many war stories about working in a group home and a psych hospital, right after I graduated from college. They weren’t easy jobs. But I grew in my Christian faith as I worked them. Prayer became an important, integral part of my life. Seeing those kids, abused, I knew the enemy was at work in their lives. The enemy was doing what he does best, “seeking whom he could devour.”

My only weapon was prayer. But that is a mighty weapon to have. In my tenure at the psych hospital, I worked between the pre adolescent ward and the children’s ward. Yep, children. Small people, living in a psych hospital with horrific stories to tell of their battered lives. When I realized I was on the forefront of war at this psych hospital, I got to work, fighting the enemy through prayer.

One time, a little girl went off. She was probably about five or six years old. A very small person. And when I say went off, she was so combative, it took five staff members to hold her down: a person at each of her feet, a person at each of her arms, and a person at her head. Little people like to spit and bite, so someone had to gently hold her head so she couldn’t bite anyone. I had one of her arms, and all five of us working together could barely control her. She was so out of control, the nurse was asked to come in to give her a dose of something in order to calm her down. The nurse came in with the syringe and told us we needed to keep her still in order for the nurse to administer the shot. We tried. The child would free one of her legs, and then the staff member had to corral it to get her body still. We were all trying to control the one body part each of us had, to keep this child still. Usually, in these situations, I would pray. But the situation was so chaotic, I couldn’t get my thoughts together to pray in my head. I would start to pray over the child, and then she get a limb free and we’d have to start all over again. Staff members were yelling. The nurse was yelling for us to get the child still. As soon as we thought we had her, she would get free again. The child was so strong. I knew this was a spiritual battle, but I couldn’t pause long enough in my head to pray for the kid.

Finally, I just screamed in my head for God to come to this child. As soon as I did, the child’s whole body went limp. One of the staff members at the child’s foot said finally the nurse got the shot in. The nurse was still standing near the child with the syringe in her hand. She said she hadn’t administered it yet. I smiled to myself. She hadn’t administered the shot, but God had come, because I called Him. He came and calmed the girl down.

Prayer is talking to God. I know you know what I’m saying, but think about it for a minute. Through prayer, we are talking to the very Creator of the universe. We are talking to God. Our voice, our requests have been heard by God. Our utterances have been heard by the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords.

I’m a lowly homeschool mom who lives in raggedy shorts most of the day. I couldn’t get in to see the President of the United States if I tried. Yet, I have the privilege, the honor and the command, to make my requests known to God, Himself. Me, in my raggedy shorts, can speak to the living God. The one who speaks and even the wind and seas obey Him. I have the right and that command. God tells us to cast our cares upon Him, for He cares for us.

And when we pray, we are invoking the very power of God. He makes the crooked places straight. He can sooth our broken hearts. He can fight battles for us, we have no way of fighting by ourselves. He can calm little kids down, who can’t calm themselves.

Christian, if you haven’t already, make prayer the most important thing you do, everyday. God commands us to.