God helps those who can't help themselves

Yesterday afternoon I received a message with a strange injunction: "Allow the God-appointed powers time to do their work." Where such a message could easily have been followed up with a call to action, this was a call to prayer, which is a call to recognize that our actions are not, in and of themselves, of ultimate significance.

There is a part of me that hates that. It's the part of me that wants to be in control, that doesn't think God knows what He's up to, that wonders how much good my pathetic little prayers could accomplish, or that wonders why my exquisitely worded prayers don't accomplish more.

I listened to the other part of me as I turned my energies towards prayer today, the part of me astounded and humbled and excited about the notion of God-ordained powers. Prayer is numbered among the God-ordained powers. Whether they are long or short, whether they flow swiftly or drag along torturously, whether or not the vocabulary is formal, they all go through the same person, who has become the holy veil for us, simultaneously mediating for us and ushering us into the presence of God.

My prayers, joined with those of hundreds of others, have been heard. Good has come out of an evil situation. Also, things went really well at my office today. I don't think this is a coincidence.

The part of me that hates to be subservient to another rushes to find "scientific explanations" for all of these things. To get me off the hook from praying, I guess, under the guise of keeping myself humble. But a deeper part of me knows that God is working in the world. That somehow, as Charlotte Brontë wrote, "God, who does the work, ordains the instrument." And that out of His mercy, God has appointed me to join His orchestra.

Bless the Lord, o my soul,

and all that is within me

bless His holy name.

He has done great things.