When Prayer Became Relevant

As far back as I can recall, I remember Jesus in my life. Evidently my parents and Sunday School teachers had taught me to fold my hands, to bow my head, and for bedtime, to kneel to pray. I loved all the "had to's" of my religion.

As I grew older, on my own I realized I didn't need to do all that to speak to Jesus. However, if I earnestly requested His attention and wanted a "yes" answer (and quickly), I'd revert to them.

My dear neighbor and playmate, Diane Clements, two years younger than I, answered my question about her father's profession. He traveled often but not on a daily basis like my father. "He's a salesman."

"What does he sell?"

"Tubes."

"Tubes? Of what?"

She didn't know, so she showed me the tubes. We were both too young to recognize them as samples of what he sold.

Those shiny tubes stayed on my child mind. I told Diane more than once that I'd like to squeeze every one of them.

"Oh, we couldn't!" Diane warned several times. "My dad would be furious."

However, a time comes when a child needs to be disobedient. And I truly mean needs.

One day when I suggested we squeeze the tubes, Diane gave in. What delight rose inside me!

Diane's approval sent me over the edge. No more obedience. No more goody-good girl. Delight thy heart, oh child of God!

We laid the black carrier box on her parents' bed against their white bedspread and opened the lid to lie among the large, red flowers in the fabric. To gaze on those perfect, silver tubes, aligned in their plastic slots, tickled my body and soul. A thrill rushed through me.

As I lifted a tube from its slot, I shot Diane a warning look. "We have to put this on something. We can't get it on the bedspread."
Diane ran immediately to the bathroom and returned with several Kleenexes.

"Maybe we should have more," I suggested. I couldn't tell from the holding the plain tube if liquid was inside.

Diane retrieved more.

As I opened the first tube, the contents smelled something akin to Vaseline. I squeezed gently only on one side to keep our sin from Diane's father. Then I recapped it and laid the tube other side up. I didn't think anyone could tell I'd touched the tube.

Sin grows. Delight yearns for more. After squeezing a couple tubes like that, my deep yearning showed itself. I wanted to squeeze without reserve. I wanted the freedom to squeeze as I willed.

Diane and I both uncapped tubes and pinched tubes here and there, giggling and enjoying ourselves.

When our irrational behavior had its fill, we mixed the concoction with our hands and smelled the odd odor and giggled more.

We smoothed the tubes as best we could, left them with their best sides up, and I took the mixture (evidence!) home.

A few days later when we played outside, Diane's older brother Robby told us her parents had discovered someone had been in her father's samples. And he knew it was Diane. Diane and Carol.

"How do they act?" I asked her brother, who grinned.

"Ohhhh. She's gonna get it. Gonna get it good."

Diane and I looked at each other. What was a little squeeze of a tube? I asked myself. He probably could get more. Money never entered my thoughts. Why make a big deal out of it?

Diane, the sweet, chubby, beautiful playmate I loved. Oh, I worried about this.

"Dad sent me out to get you," he told her.

Diane hung her head and started to leave with Robby.

"Wait!" I called. "I need to talk to her a minute. Alone."

Robby walked further on, but wouldn't leave without Diane.

"We have to pray, Diane," I whispered.

Diane didn't attend church. Neither did her family. So what about prayer?

"We need to do this now, Diane." I looked her straight in the eyes.

Diane looked toward her house and then to Robby and finally to me. "Okay."

I folded my hands and held them like a saint. I bowed my head. Diane's body language-other than folded hands-wasn't in the prayer. I'm sure her heart was full of fear. "Oh, God, our father. Watch over Diane. We didn't mean anything wrong . . ." I babbled on until Robby started moving toward us.

Diane left with him to face her parents. Their family displayed harsh rules. Robby had experienced "the belt."

I didn't come from a home with lots of rules. My parents were older and knew children follow more by imitation than being yelled at and spanked. (But I got some.)

That night on my knees, God reminded me to pray for the entire family. If Diane's parents were to imitate God to her and Robby and their younger brother, Glen, then they needed to know God and His behavior. They also needed to be saved from their sin.

Diane's mother phoned my mother, and I got mild disciplining. However, my mother invited Mrs. Clements to our church. She hadn't asked her in a long, long time. Mrs. Clements said, as always, she'd think about it.

I gave that situation no more thought. I wouldn't be playing with Diane for a while.

Their entire family entered our church the following Sunday.

Diane told me after the service that her parents had talked to her, as my mother had, that those tubes were important to her father's work and he had to pay for them. They were not for play. She said she understood. And that was Diane's punishment. A good talking to. Her father added that they would attend church together the next Sunday.

Had my prayer coaxed God's power to work in the Clements family? In Ephesians 1:19-20, the scripture says we have the same power that raised Jesus from the dead. Had my heart and mind been so intensely on our guilty situation that God knew our fearful, regretful hearts and given us leniency through our parents?

Nothing tangible could prove our prayer had done any of that until I mused to my mother why the Clements hadn't punished Diane harshly.

Mom told me her parents had watched out the window when Robby went to get Diane. My reaction was to pray. That action had stirred their hearts. When my mother invited them to church, they knew it was time to get right with God.

The family became born-again Christians. Glen was ordained as a minister. And prayer became relevant in my life ever after

2008 Carol Hegberg. Carol Hegberg is a professional freelance editor/writer. With her journalism degree, she has written for local and college newspapers. Her novel PEN PALS was published in 2004, and her non-fiction book ROCHELLE was published in 2007. Her poems, essays, articles, skits, and plays have appeared in several literary and other magazines. She has been published in several anthologies.