Childish vs. Child-Like Prayers

Monday was a bad day. I knew it was going to start out badly when I woke up and the sun was hidden behind a bunch of dark rain clouds. I spilled my coffee all over the counter, causing me to leave later than I intended and to forget my morning Pop-Tart in the toaster. As I rushed out the door, I could feel the anxiety that I always feel on Monday mornings ("Do I remember how to teach?") rising up inside me, only it was intensified because I had just come out of a long, restful Thanksgiving break and was facing the prospect of three of the most packed weeks of the school year.

I have gotten in the habit of praying on my drive into work in the morning, usually for my students or fellow teachers, and for my own heart to be in the right place as I do my work. But as I tried to concentrate on my prayer over the loud thwacking of my windshield wipers (if you've ever been within a mile of my car when it rains, you know exactly what I mean), I found myself praying a prayer of desperation that went something like, "God, please just give me some kind of tangible encouragement to make it through the day." Immediately, I regretted my words because they sounded so "childish"; it seemed foolish to expect God to show up just because I had asked him, and I worried that I was praying the type of prayer that I feel like I've heard called a "vending machine" prayer -- you push the button, and expect God to deliver. So I "repented" by continuing with something like, "God, you don't need to do anything for me today. Sorry I asked. Have a good day."

I pulled my car into the parking lot, managed to make it all the way to the door without spilling my coffee all over myself (a rare feat) and walked into the teacher's office. Hanging down right in front of me was a banner made up of papers with quotes from students about why they are thankful for their teachers. It turned out that the principal had gathered these before Thanksgiving break and posted them all over the office as a surprise to motivate us upon our return. There were banners all over the office, but at first I only saw that one, and front and center, just as I walked in the door, was a quote signed by the child who I probably have struggled the most with this year:

"I want to thank Ms. Stuntz for the comments she makes on my PREP report every week [their weekly behavior report]. She tells me that she knows I can do better. And guess what? I know I can. I want to do better, so thank you Ms. Stuntz for your advice."

I'm quite certain the only way God could have given me a more direct answer to my prayer is if this quote had been written on a baseball bat that hit me in the head--but I'm thankful it wasn't. This child has never once acknowledged that he even hears anything I am saying to him, much less that he is thankful for it. He is in the midst of an incredibly difficult time right now, and many days I have wondered whether it is a worthwhile investment of my time to give him any of it. In other words, there is no other person in my life right now from whom that message would have meant more. (Being my cynical self, I still asked the principal if she dictated the quotation; she claims it's his original work.)

I thought back to my prayer from the morning, and how I had repented of its "childishness." But I think my repentance was much more childish. I believe it is right to be aware that God does not always answer our prayers in the ways we'd hoped or the time we'd expected, which is a mercy--He knows better than me what I need. But it is much more "childish" to go too far to the other extreme and believe that I do not need to ask for God's assistance at all, that I will be more righteous if I am more independent. It is much more "childish" to assume that every day, every moment, I do not need to pray those cries of desperation: "If you do not show up, I will not make it through the day." It is much more child-like to pray the best I know how, and to believe that He will answer, sometimes dramatically and directly, sometimes much more subtly, sometimes in a manner that shows me that what I thought I "needed" was not really my need at all. But He will always meet my ultimate need, which is to show me that I am needy and to give me of Himself.