A Cause to Pray

God sat enthroned before the altar of prayer; His warring angels were standing on each side of Him.  All of heaven could see the overwhelming, hostile attacks against the broken-hearted, and the angels assigned to them were prepared to retaliate against the evil injustice that was being done.  God wanted to release heaven into the earth, but He was waiting for His children to simply pray.  Each day, these  angels were hopeful that someone would pray to God for the broken-hearted; they wanted to take flight in the spiritual realm and win victories for those too weak to pray for themselves.  Since the angels were not privy to hear the prayers offered to God, they waited for God to give them the command to join the others battling in war.  One person after another came to the altar but none remembered to pray specifically for those who were hopeless, in despair, and grief-stricken.  The angels stood with their swords drawn from their sheaths…but God was silent.  If He couldn’t find anyone to pray for the broken-hearted who burdened His heart, then God would do as He had done in the past- He would strike the mark Himself and make intercession.  After all, the people were His.  God was willing to clothe Himself and fight against the evil that tormented His people and kept them under a deep, dark cloud.  At the end of the eleventh hour, just about midnight, a man knelt down at his bedside to pray.

Peter Maddox had fond memories of his early childhood.  Having been raised in a Christian home by loving parents who were missionaries, Peter had the kind of adventures that most kids could only dream about.   He would never forget the exciting places he got to visit or the unusual people he met; even the trip to the local Missionary Store thrilled him.  This unique store featured handcrafted products by local Christians and proceeds from each sale was used to meet local and global needs by supporting such projects as building orphanages, providing medicines for medical centers, and supplying third world countries with Bibles. 

After his mother took ill, Peter wanted to forgo all activities that took him away from home so he could be close to her side as much as possible.  However, his mother insisted that he continue with his normal routines.  She wanted to do all she could to keep Peter’s mind on something other than the illness that had plagued her.  Likewise, his father wanted to keep as much stability in Peter’s life as he could, considering the things around him were quickly changing.    

On his last trip to the Missionary Store with his father just before his mother passed away, Peter found something he wanted to buy for his mother… a teddy bear that happened to have the same name as his.  This bear, Peter Prayz, came with a prayer commitment card and a list of areas where prayer was needed, such as healing for the sick.  Although Peter didn’t know what the word commitment meant, he understood that his mother was sick and needed healing.  He hurried over to his father with the bear in his hand.

“I see you found something, huh?”

“Yes, but what does commitment mean?” he asked handing the bear to his father.

Peter listened attentively as his father explained the word commitment and how it works alongside of prayer.  “And prayer,” his father concluded, “makes the difference in the lives of others.”   

Over the next couple of months, Peter spent more time praying in the family prayer room than one might expect from a ten-year old.  However, as his mother’s condition worsened, Peter’s faith weakened and his devotion to pray waned greatly.  After she passed away, Peter refused to go anywhere near the prayer room; and at the mercy of an angry, broken-hearted young boy, Peter Prayz suffered much affliction.   At times, Peter used Peter Prayz as a wrestling opponent which he plummeted repeatedly and practiced chokeholds and other twisted wrestling moves.  When Peter wasn’t in hand-to-hand combat with Peter Prayz, he put the bear down on the ground while he rode his skateboard over it's poly filled body.  One day after nearly severing the bears’ arms, Peter yanked and pulled at the bears’ eyes until the shiny round buttons snapped off in his hands; he then hurled them across the room and watched as they ricocheted off the wall.   Once, Cush, the family dog, tried to come into Peter’s room, and Peter used the bear as a weapon.   Cush snagged the bear in his mouth, and he and Peter contended like opposing teams at tug of war.  Peter wiggled the bear back and forth until it was freed minus an ear which Cush later buried in the backyard.  Eventually, Peter Prayz ended up on the floor in the back of Peter’s bedroom closet.  It would be many years later before the bear would resurface and be in the hands of that same little boy who was now a man.

As Peter drove into town, he was surprised to see that not much had changed except for a few remodeled buildings, some newly paved streets, and another restaurant had opened.  All of these improvements made this quaint town more city-like.  Peter had not been home in more than five years; prior to that, he had only made a visit or two during the holidays.  However, even those visits were sporadic and inconsistent; it seemed being inconsistent was the only thing he was consistent at.

If his memory served him well, Tyler Bridge would be just ahead.  There it is!  Tyler Bridge meant his father’s house was less than twenty-five miles away.  On the other side of the bridge was the Missionary Store- that is, if it was still open for business.  Peter didn’t have a great deal of money, but he wanted to get his father something as a peace offering. He was glad to see that the store was still there; it was just as he remembered, operating with the same vision to raise money for global needs.  After he calculated how much he needed for food and gas to get back home, he browsed the store searching to buy something nice within his modest budget.  On the “Manager’s Special” table sat the perfect gift for his father… an oil painting of a lighthouse amidst a stormy sea.  The picture adequately depicted their relationship.  He had been the raging waters constantly crashing against his father on every side.  Regardless of the stages and storms in Peter’s life, his father, like the lighthouse, remained steadfast and determined.  Uncertain if he needed to explain the gift, he figured he should be prepared with a few brief words just in case. 

Peter hadn’t told his dad that he was coming home.  He wanted to, even tried to, but he couldn’t seem to muster up the courage.   However, the journey home thus far gave him a good feeling.  With the windows of his 1987 Chevy S10 rolled down and the summer breeze passing through warming his face, Peter wondered if that good feeling would last throughout his weekend stay.  As he passed by what used to be Maynard’s apple orchid, he grinned.  He could still hear old man Maynard yelling out from the porch at Peter and his friends.  “Get on!  Do ya’ here me?  Get on!”   They were reckless boys who knew better but just didn’t do better. 

As he came to the winding road leading to his father’s house, he reduced his speed and then came to a complete stop in a swirl of dust.  He took a deep breath and rested his forehead on the backside of his hands as they tightened around the steering wheel.  Come on Peter.  You’ve made it this far.   You can do this.  He raised his head, slowly took his foot off the brake and resumed driving.   

Driving up, Peter could see that time and a fresh coat of paint had been kind to his father’s house.  Nearing the front door with his duffle bag and the gift wrapped oil painting in his hands, he wondered if the key on his key ring still worked.  He dared not try the key; after all, this was no longer his home.  At least that’s what he screamed at his father the day he left for good.  Shifting the things from his right hand to his left and then back again bought him a few more seconds to pull his thoughts together.  When he looked up, his father was standing at the storm door looking at him through the wire mesh screen.

The silence seemed to widen the distance between them which gave Peter an uneasy feeling.    

“Peter? Is that you, son?”

“Yes, sir.  It’s me.”

His father unhooked the latch and slowly pushed the door open.  Peter stepped aside giving way for the door to swing wide, and then stepped back propping it open with his shoulder.  He didn’t know if he should hug his father or shake his hand, which one really didn’t matter just as long as he felt his father’s touch again.  When he stared into his father’s eyes, his heart sank.   The feeling of guilt and shame crept over him so quickly that his knees buckled.  He wanted to collapse right there on the front porch, but he had come too far, driven too long to miss out on any more time to spend with his father.   So, he steadied himself.  Sensing his son’s discomfort, his father stepped towards him.  Peter bowed his head as familiar arms wrapped around him evoking tears accompanied by a sudden case of the sniffles.  His father knew that the embrace was necessary.

Now that they had gotten past the initial reunion, Peter and his father could do their best to catch-up on the last five years plus.  They sat and talked for hours until the sun finished her shift and the moon had clocked in for the third watch. 

“Tomorrow, we’ll go into town and get the hardware we need to hang the picture.  Do you remember your way around the house?  Where everything is?”

“I’m sure I can find my way.”

“I always believed you would.  Good night, son.”

As his father turned left and walked down the hallway to his room, Peter went right to his old bedroom.  Not much had changed in the room except that the twin bed he had as a young boy had been replaced with a full size bed.   Peter yawned, tossing his duffle bag on the bed.  The hour was late; he still needed to shower to wash off the dust from the long drive home.   He quietly fumbled around in the hallway linen closet for a towel and wash cloth being careful not to wake his father.  Peter turned on the water; a hot shower was exactly what his tired body needed.  Initially, it seemed as if low water pressure blocked a strong stream of water, but after he let the shower run for a few minutes, the water eventually flowed freely.   Peter thought the shower head could be another project he and his father could work on tomorrow... together.  Finishing up, Peter then dried himself off and dressed for bed. 

Peter tossed and turned for two hours.  He couldn’t blame the bed for his restlessness, because it was much more comfortable than the palette of blankets bawled on the floor back home that he was accustomed to.  He knew that coming home wasn’t just about reconciling with his father, there was still the issue surrounding his hurt from his mother’s death that needed to be resolved.   Peter got out of the bed and walked outside of his room.  He stood in the hallway contemplating what he knew he had to do.

A dim light peeped through the door of the room next to his.  Entering the room, Peter pressed against the slightly ajar door looking in with wonderment.  The prayer room.   Inside, Peter’s eyes scanned the floor to ceiling bookshelves and numerous books his father had collected.  There were more books in that one room than Peter had ever read in his lifetime.  He ran his fingers along the spine of some of the books:  Spurgeon, Swindoll, Jakes, Stanley, Thomas, Chambers, Maxwell, and the list of authors went on and on.  Books weren’t the only thing his father had as a keepsake; there were family pictures framed and displayed throughout the room.  The wedding photos of his father and mother, Peter’s baby pictures, and various other snapshots of the three of them hung on the walls as well. 

Everything about the room was inviting, including the pleasant scent that filled the air.  Peter soon discovered that a square bottle labeled frankincense and myrrh with tiny sticks pointing upward was the reason for the intoxicating fragrance.  Peter turned around and sitting plumb in the middle of the room was the old wooden chair- just as Peter remembered.  When Peter was a young boy, he inquired about the uncomfortable chair.  His father had replied, “This uncomfortable wooden chair keeps me humble; it reminds me that Christ died an uncomfortable death on a wooden cross for my sins.” 

As he came around to the front of the chair, he noticed the worn out teddy bear sitting there.  There was something familiar about the bear.  At first, Peter couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was and then it dawned on him; it was Peter Prayz, the bear he’d given to his mother.   In an instance, it seemed as if his heart had been torn open and all of the hurt he had harbored was painfully being pulled out.  He was finally able to admit that he was angry:  He was angry with his mother for dying; he was angry with his father for letting her die; and he was angry with himself because he had hated them both so unnecessarily.  As he sat holding Peter Prayz, all he could do was weep. 

Peter’s father lay awake in bed listening as his son’s cries echoed throughout the house.  He knew that there wasn’t anything he could do to ease the discomfort that comes along with the healing process.  He could tell that his son had had a difficult life.  In many ways, even for him, life had thrown some hard punches his way.  The years he spent without a relationship with his son were extremely difficult and had certainly taken a toll on him. 

His son had returned home and they were given another chance to mend their relationship, but this new start for a happy ending wasn’t the case for every family.  He began to think about how many parents were broken-hearted because sons and daughters had walked away from them or the number of children who were hurting because their parents had turned their backs on them.  He slipped out of bed and took a position on the floor to pray.  His prayer focus was on reconciliation and restoration for the broken-hearted.

As Peter’s father kneeled down, God looked to his left and to his right.  The angels were armed and ready; they were at God’s disposal for whatever He had need of night or day.  God gestured and released the angels to take flight into the spiritual realm to war.  One angel after another after another until legions was released, yet there were still troops of angels that remained around the throne of God.  “The noise of the wings of the living creatures that touched one another, and the noise of the wheels beside them, and a great thunderous noise”[i] was heard throughout the heavenlies on behalf of one man who realized there was a cause to pray.

---

[i] Ezekiel 3:13