Friday, March 26, 2010

Why Am I Here? -- Part 4 -- Somebody Prayed

So, we come to the end of this little 4 part series. It has been an interesting experience for me.  It has been a blessing to think about my life from 4 distinct perspectives.

I was recently told by a very dear (and slightly OCD) friend that I should not have interjected the little commercial for someone else's blog between part 3 and this last part. So, I offer my apologies for that literary faux pas.

Let me remind you of the topics one last time.

Here are the four topics again as a reminder.

I am what I am because:
  • Somebody Played
  • Somebody Stayed
  • Somebody Paid, and
  • Somebody Prayed
In Part 1, I pointed out that I am deeply grateful for the impact that my 4th grade boys Sunday School teacher had on my life. In Part 2, I discussed what an impact on my life was made through the personal sacrifice that my mom made to stay at home and raise my brother and me. And in Part 3, I wrote about something a little more tangible in terms of a specific monetary investment made into my life.

Now, the last installment.  I am what I am because somebody prayed. That someone is my Dad.

Tonight as I sit at the keyboard my memory goes back to a morning in my early childhood. Actually, any morning morning that would come to mind would demonstrate my point. And that fact may be the greatest statement and testament to a life of consistent prayer.

I really don't remember when I first experienced it. But the memories are about as vivid as any of my childhood. Every morning as I was getting up in the morning and heading to the table for breakfast I would pass by the bathroom in the hall. Our home was a modest home. It did not have a private bathroom in the master bedroom as I recall. So, the family shared a bathroom in the hall. Dad, Mom, David and me. Each morning on the way to breakfast I would pass by that bathroom. Usually the door was slightly ajar. I could see in the bathroom as I walked down the hall.

What did I see as I walked down the hall? -- I would see Dad.

Where was Dad? -- He was kneeling by the bathtub.

What was Dad doing? -- He was praying?

Who was he praying for? -- He was praying for me.

Now I need to tell you something at this point. I did not grasp the significance of that act at that point in my childhood. But I did later in my life as I got a little older. As I was growing up I would often pause by the door and listen. Dad would use my name as he prayed for me. He prayed for my safety. He prayed for my day as I went to school. He prayed that I would make wise decisions. He prayed for many things. But he prayed that I would come to know Jesus in a very real and personal way. He prayed that I would come to know Jesus like he knew Jesus.

That memory has come to me countless times in my lifetime. It seems that memory always came at the worst times. That memory came at times when I was tempted to do stupid teenager stuff. It came when I was tempted to do stupid college stuff. It came when I was tempted to do many things. Unfortunately, that memory did not always keep me from making those decisions. But I never escaped the memory of Dad praying for me.

That habit that Dad had is still a part of his daily life. He still prays for me every day. He calls out my name in prayer. He calls the name of my wife. He calls the name of our children. He calls the name of my son-in-law. And he calls the name of my grandson, his great grandson, every day as he communes with God at the start of his day.

So here I am. I have more days behind me than I have in front of me. And I owe much of the life that I have enjoyed and the success that I have enjoyed in raising a family to the faithfulness of my Dad and to his prayers for me every morning of my life.

I am what I am because somebody prayed.

Thanks Dad.

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