It’s just awkward, isn’t it?
“False hope.”
What an interesting combination of words. I heard it recently from our dog’s doctor, and it got me thinking about how we all struggle with an honest prayer life.
Our older dog had been restlessly pacing around the house for weeks. We took him to his usual veterinarian for wisdom, but upon arrival our dog unexpectedly changed his demeanor and bit the doctor’s hand. It wasn’t a nip either, but a full-on, full-teeth defensive act.
Thankfully, the doctor wasn’t wounded beyond a surface-level breaking of the skin.
Still, that was a first for our quite kind-and-gentle-dog. Even the doctor noted that our dog “regretted” biting him.
Apparently, something had changed mentally in our canine. Just like older adults might gradually experience dementia, his way of seeing and understanding the world had become degenerative. It’s likely why he’d been stressed out and unable to find rest anywhere.
The doctor empathetically encouraged us to understand that our dog could act out at home like he did in the office. Our two options were to either utilize medicine a few times each day to temporarily calm the dog’s body, or… set up an appointment soon if we wanted to choose euthanasia.
Our vet also factually stated that this wasn’t going to get better, and if we took the route of medicine we might perceive that everything had suddenly resolved. This, he explained, would be “false hope.”
After the visit, my wife and I had several emotional conversations about it all. We then spoke with our older sons and 13-year old daughter (who loves all animals) about what we were facing, be it caring for him through a potentially dangerous journey in-house, or taking a hard and permanent step.
So… which value was “correct?” More importantly, what ethics about life and commitment would we consequently impart to them based on that decision?
I found myself struggling that night during our usual out-loud family prayer. As I opened my mouth to talk with God, I wondered what “should” spill out.
Specifically, would it be inappropriate to ask for a miracle? I know God invites us to, but would I in seeking it out loud be setting up my daughter to pine for that miracle in an unnatural way?
Then again, isn’t a “miracle” by definition unnatural? Don’t we in seeking God about anything inherently defy the way things are by inviting a larger Story to unfold?
“Should I or should I not pray for the miracle, God?” I dangerously wondered to Him internally, while simultaneously praying a safer prayer to Him out loud.
Ironic, huh? The “false hope” I ended up fearing wasn’t about my dog’s condition, but in what was right for us to expect of God.
Ever been there? You’re trying to be honest as you seek the Lord, but everything inside of you is trying to talk you out of it.
Maybe we need to be honest with why we struggle.
God freaks us out.
We may use nicer words to say that, like how He’s “holy” and “beyond us.” We’ve heard sermons to help us grasp the thought that we can’t grasp His thoughts. We smile when Mr. Beaver in the Chronicles of Narnia allegory describes the Savior-figure Aslan as a lion who should be feared and can’t be tamed, yet whose heart is good.
You know what that means? It means God freaks us out!
Jesus dared His disciples to pray with faith to move a mountain, and yet we stare at our mountain wondering if we should even try. “What if I pray and it doesn’t move?” we wonder. “What might that say about my faith?
Then again, we also fear the alternative. “What if I pray and the mountain does actually move?!?!”
In a church I served in while in college, our senior pastor’s wife developed cancer. Everyone prayed for a miracle of healing, and he declared in service after service that she would be physically healed on this side of heaven. She ultimately wasn’t, though, and entered into the healing of eternity.
A few years later, I served in another church and was asked to visit a dying woman I’d never met who’d asked for a pastor to come by and pray with her. More specifically, she emailed her request because she’d lost the ability to speak as her body had started shutting down. She was in her thirties – a young mom whose health had suddenly declined.
As I entered into a depressing room of strangers, I wondered how to pray “appropriately.” Without much time to consider this, I simply (and perhaps “inappropriately”) asked if she wanted me to pray for a miraculous healing. She nodded her head, and so I did. We eventually ended our time together as I left her and her loved ones to continue processing the sadness of it all.
The next day, I was shocked to learn she’d started speaking again. Two days later, she had made a dramatic recovery. The doctors used the word “miracle.”
What the heck?
God invites us in.
He wants us to realize that prayer isn’t about a formula but about being formed. Our words aren’t meant to be performed “right” but to be shared “raw.” In this way we don’t just grab for what we want, but collapse into Who we have.
You can’t quantify sweat when it comes to prayer anyway. The prophet Elijah famously prayed for a miracle of rain seven times before it happened, but he only had to pray for a miracle of fire once.
That’s confusing… unless this isn’t in the Bible to prescribe a holy math of how often to pray, but to show us Who he prayed to.
God does have power and miracles to offer us, but they’re secondary to the relationship He wants to build with us as we seek Him for those things. This isn’t selfish of Him either, but quite selfless. He always knows what we regularly forget – that the usual miracles we pray for come out of our spiritual nearsightedness.
Jesus supernaturally fed the thousands… who were naturally hungry again hours later. He also supernaturally raised Lazarus from the dead… who at some point naturally died again. Even miracles like these have expiration dates.
The only miracle that doesn’t expire is the personal relationship we can have with Him through Jesus Christ. We can build that intentionally, but also accidentally… for even when we shout at God we end up turning toward Him… which is the point.
Yes, an honest prayer life can start with you thinking He’s being hard-headed, but quickly pivot as you realize the soft spot He has for you. Your soul may start out feeling unglamorous and alone, yet soon step into the splendor that’s always been with you.
God walks us up.
We tend to see life like a mountain we haven’t conquered. As we consider our beginning to that end, can we ask God to zip us there?
Yes, but what if that’s only half the prayer? The “beginning” and the “end” are part of it, but so is seeking God in the “middle.”
For example, “God, make everything go smoothly” could become “God, strengthen my feet for whatever the path is. I’m stressed, but I will trust You.” Likewise, “Be with me as I ______” can reset into “Thanks for always being with me, and even now as I ______.”
So… perhaps “Lord, help my (dog/loved one) feel better” becomes “Lord, I don’t know how to pray for my (dog/loved one), but I know I want to, so teach me how to pray. I ask for total physical healing, and passionately am knocking on Your heart for it. And I also trust Your heart. Build my relationship with You through it all.”
What’s your mountain? How are you trying to help your family walk it, too?
God is walking up it with you all. Yes, Jesus said mountains can be moved… yet maybe this one hasn’t yet.
Tell Him about it. Complain if you have to.
Just lean into His shoulder as you do.
It isn’t false hope.
It’s just awkward, isn’t it?
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11:28-30)
