praying – Jerry Lout ⚬ Writer ⚬ Speaker ⚬ Mobilizer

September 7, 2023

Assertive Action

“I am sorry, but your son will not walk again.”

My mom, seated in the Tulsa hospital’s polio ward, listened as the doctor offered his prognosis. Her heart sank.

It might be argued the physician’s assessment in the moment was made prematurely. Regardless, news like this coming to the parent of a paralyzed nine-year-old lying in a Hillcrest bed down the hall could not be received without emotion.

Our family was blessed to have friends. Common, blue-collar-status households marked, for the most part, the culture of our modest faith community. Upon receiving the latest troubling news of my ongoing decline, the little band of churchgoers rallied their hearts. They reset their resolve. As an earlier body of believers of ancient times had been challenged to do, they continued in prayer.*

Having been carried by Dad into the hospital weeks earlier – my legs and feet unresponsive to my very best efforts at even wiggling a toe – I was often reminded I was never forgotten by our faithful praying family.

My condition worsened still. Discussions were convened of bringing in a piece of equipment bearing a foreboding kind of name – the Iron Lung. A backup measure for my increasingly compromised respiratory system.

The actions of the small prayer band seemed a little counterintuitive. They simply kept on with their appeals. Kind people paid a visit resting kind hands* on my frail form.

It remains for me a big mystery as to why I got counted among some of the fortunate ones over time to encounter the miraculous firsthand. Looking back I recall with some wonder the astonishing shift in my condition. My terribly weakened body responding to the Lord’s gracious, powerful hand. The little company of his blue-collar intercessors had kept their petitions going. If biblical praying is anything it is love acted upon audaciously.

Some four weeks after the iron lung deliberation the hospital’s exit doors opened. I was standing upright, walking with only the support of a couple crutches which would soon get discarded. Both my body and spirit responded happily to the crisp air outside.

A doubtful questioner once offered, “I believe that, instead of God answering prayer, the matter is merely coincidental. You pray. A coincidence occurs and you claim that some prayer was answered.”

The prayer practitioner offered a kind response, “Maybe you are right. Yet, what I have found is this. The more we pray – the more the coincidences happen”.

This is the way of apprentices to Jesus. They engage. Routinely – in humble trusting faith – they converse with him.

August 24, 2023August 25, 2023

Means Aplenty

The thing that sparked my interest in guitar was my brother’s interest in guitar (a trait of the junior sibling).

A 25 cent chord book (fingering charts included) paired together with a nine-dollar second-hand acoustic was our father’s investment in us launching our musical enterprise. Tim, giving diligent attention to the chord book, taught himself. And tutored me along as he went. The ‘two-bit’ resource proved priceless.

That modest publication with its folk songs and fingering charts was vital for our picking-and-grinning advancement. Its few pages helped transform my brother, a teenaged guitarist-wannabe, into an effective musician.

In much the same way effective (gratifying, fruit-bearing) communion with God lies within easy reach of any believer. Any who with willing heart chooses in good faith to simply practice.

Praying the words of a select few lines of a Scripture Psalm over and over. Pondering a phrase or a single word. Expressing this or that fervent heart cry as though it were penned by the one now reading and voicing it. This tool alone has helped bring many over time into lives of vibrant communion in God.

Without notes and chords in place the music room lies silent. Without the apprentice’s heart-strings brought to movement in prayer, no life of flourishing in Jesus will bloom.

Finally, discovering that the Christian is not called on to pray perfect prayers brings unspeakable relief. God goes so far as to let us know we are, in fact, quite ignorant when it comes to the spiritual practice we call prayer. What comfort! No need to fake it.

Without apology God reminds us via a terse confession of his tentmaking apostle, “We do not know what to pray for as we ought”*.

With this truth in mind Christ’s apprentices have the door of a whole toolshed flung wide open before them. His treasure-trove of tools (our means) is not restricted to the book of Psalms. Talking with God in our own personal words (nothing fancy, please!) we also have full permission to give voice to a host of prayers offered up across the pages of Scripture.

Consider this.

How might you feel knowing that a friend or family member was earnestly interceding the following for you, “that he might know the love of Christ. . . that she may be filled with all the fulness of God.”?* Be assured, God would be more than pleased our invoking as our own, Paul’s petition. For anyone whose name or image might show up on the radar of our petitioning heart.

April 13, 2023

A Knowing

His intimate and often practice of prayer brought Jesus into sweet communion with God, his heavenly father. And his praying served as the perfect teaching tool, placing in his disciples’ hands a sure and certain onramp to daily life in God.

Like fruit-bearing branches streaming from a common vine, Christ-followers actually get to see their lives as extensions of his own. They are a band of humble pilgrims anchoring into a new identity. Having become God’s reborn sons and daughters they quickly catch on to the fact that apart from Jesus they can do nothing. Nothing at all. He has become their life source. The Holy Spirit helps keep Jesus ever before their eyes. And, as with priceless treasure discovered in a field, no obstacle on earth will stop them going after it.

So it is that God’s unimpressive tagalongs – his precious apprentices – are set on a course of blossoming and flourishing. His fruit-bearing emissaries.

This sweet communion with God through the practice of prayer is not a thing reserved for Jesus of Nazareth alone.

I think of Frank.

Long ago a young missionary in Western Kenya confided in me, “All that I have learned about how to pray I learned from Frank.” The young man spoke warmly of his missions colleague and friend.

“Frank didn’t teach me to pray by telling me how to pray. I learned praying by being with Frank when he was praying.”

Apparently, this is how it was with Jesus’ twelve. A longing arose within them that they become pray-ers, because of what they witnessed in their praying Lord. They discerned that their brilliant and beloved rabbi displayed utterly unique qualities. Beautiful and desirable qualities. Like goodness. And joy. And compassion. And humility.

Such qualities, they began seeing, could only be derived from those frequent times he communed in secret with a world they knew little about.

September 1, 2022September 1, 2022

Ticket Home

As Albert Einstein was anxiously searching underneath and around his passenger seat during a train journey, a conductor took in the scene. Stopping then, he assured the physicist, “Dr. Einsten, don’t worry, I know who you are. We all know who you are. There’s no problem. You don’t need a ticket. I am sure you bought one.” The famed but flustered scientist replied, “Young man, I too know who I am. What I don’t know, is where I am going!”

The amusing account strikes a chord in many who hope for deeper clarity about life and where it is meant to lead. Indeed, some feel uncertain whether they have yet boarded the train.

Followers of Jesus – people who have made an on-purpose decision to know him and be transformed by him – are often found appealing to God for help.

“Please grant to me the courage to change things about myself which you know need changing”. This is a raw, gutsy prayer. The appeal suggests that the disciple is taking seriously his call to apprentice under Jesus.

The honest Christ-follower who sees something within himself needing serious renovation moves to action. Praying has proven a good and much-traveled entryway into God, his word, his presence and help.

When, as a high school senior I defied my parent’s wise but firm counsel, my stubborn behavior resulted in a radical change of address. Moving to another town in another state more than 700 miles from home. No small matter.

In prayer we pause. We shift our attention, sometimes quite awkwardly, away from our own dysfunctional selves. The Holy Spirit is given space to work. He brings us (as we listen) toward a change of mind. And often signals to our hearts an avenue by which some troubling thing may get resolved. My “road back home” began when life started unraveling. Desperate, I called to God in prayer. A blubbering phone visit to my parents followed and soon I (and they) tasted the good fruit of my repentance and our reconciliation.

Wrongdoings that arise from our foolish or sinful choices do not make for pleasant travel companions. Then an old adage percolates in our mind, “Prayer changes things”.

Life Transformation Onramps offered us through Holy Scripture and by way of the Spirit’s guidance take us to a place that is bigger and fuller and grander than we might have dreamed. Here we find ourselves merging straight onto the thoroughfare of wholeness. It is a place where our entire being gets put right over time. The missing ticket is found. We are coming to know who we are and where we are going.

November 23, 2017

A Day of Thanksgiving

“Somebody from his home village sent it to him. Someone with a grudge. The envelope with that stuff inside came hand-delivered yesterday and he’s been like this since.”

I thought of the things that led up to this moment. ‘Curse updates’ don’t often happen in Oklahoma. But this thing seems really serious.

My friend, Jerry, had summoned the unusual parcel. We noticed the opened envelope bulged a bit. In it was a strange assortment – random, spooky things not fit for having around.

“Elements of a curse. It’s what this is. Whoever sent it to Omondi wasn’t playing games. They planned real physical and mental harm for him. Even death. Take a look at these bone fragments, the ashes mixed in, these bits of rock.”

We eyed the elements warily. Something became clear in those moments. The recipient of this “gift”, the young vocational student, knew he had been cursed. His fear was real. Omondi knew he could die at the hand of a power behind these items. Invisible but real, a terribly dark force – too strong to withstand.

Jerry and I stood silently, each in our own thoughts. Both of us anxious. Each of us sensed the other was praying, groping for guidance. How do you contend with this kind of thing? In another setting one could shrug it off as a game of foolish superstition. But we sensed this to be a full-on display of an evil presence, dispatched somehow to render harm. What could we do?

A thought had begun stirring in me. Pushing past a temptation to just ignore it, I turned to my friend.

“Jerry, would you mind if we try something?” He waited for me to go on. “Can someone bring matches? I think we need to urge this young man to resist, that he fight this thing in the power of Christ.”

Only partly-sure of my instinct, I continued. My confidence grew.

“I believe he needs to break this curse and we can be there, through it with him. We can pray. But I do think he needs to set these things on fire and destroy them. It will be his statement of God’s claim on his life. If he’s willing to, that is.” Jerry nodded.

As I had been speaking the words I knew I was out of my depth. I felt I may be trembling on the inside as much as Omondi was on the outside.

Matches were brought. We moved to an enclosure and sat on the floor, Jerry and I at either side of him.

After sharing Scripture with Omondi, affirming the goodness and the truth of Jesus and the power of his name, we asked him if he agreed with Jesus’ words. “Do you believe that God has power above all?”. He nodded slightly and we pressed ahead, inviting him to offer himself fully to Jesus Christ. Slowly, deliberately he voiced a prayer of surrender to God. My friend, Jerry and I, never let up calling on the Lord from our hearts. After a moment I looked into the young man’s eyes.

“Good. OK, now Omondi, do you renounce all witchcraft, any kind of it? Do you reject all spirit forces that oppose the Lord Jesus? Can you say that you do?” In a weak response he whispered yes. When asked one more time, he came back with an assertive “Yes”.

“OK”. I raised the envelope with its contents before him. Some apprehension seemed to play at his eyes. But his fear had lessened and my friend and I sensed Omondi was choosing freedom. We kept praying, “Help him, Lord Jesus. Be near.”

“Alright now, let’s light the match.”

At first his hand trembled with such intensity that I took his hand in mine and we gripped the match together. Thankful for his clear resolve to continue, we struck the match and lit the envelope and contents, Jerry and I voicing thanksgivings to Jesus the whole time. And a beautiful thing followed.

Witnessing the flame take over the elements, we felt a release of joy. The three of us came to our feet. Jerry and I called out in joy and conviction, praising the name of our Lord. Fear had left. Had left us all. Omondi’s head pain went away. Deliverance had come.

Afterwards, as we prepared to leave, the name of a pastor I knew from Omondi’s home area came to my mind. I sent a message to him. The two connected in coming days.

At the end of the day we were at peace. Wow.

The power of Christ had prevailed over raw evil. And two young – less-than-fearless – missionaries had been invited to take part. No wonder it’s called Good News.

We had witnessed the display on this day the authority of Christ’s name. A power greater than witchcraft, greater than fear and even death. The power of love.

It was a day of thanksgiving.

December 10, 2018December 10, 2018

Making It Happen

The grand company of heroes in foreign missionary work features a long list of people who never walked the church aisle surrendering to God’s work abroad. They never enrolled in a college Missions course, never boarded a plane or ship venturing off to lands and to peoples hungrily awaiting their arrival and the good news they bear.

These are the child-rearing, husband-supporting homemakers.They’re the carpenters, accountants, physicians and farmers, high-schooler babysitters, retirees making it on fixed incomes. And a trainload of other skilled and not-so-skilled, educated and hardly-literate folks, all of a common stripe. They make up the interceding, resource-sharing, passion-fueled army known simply as missions supporters.

Many are anonymous, praying and giving – passing their support on through the coffers of a partnering church. Faithful, continued, selfless giving, without which the missionary enterprise would cease to carry forward.

“It’s not as much as I wish it could be.”

How often throughout our Africa years did we take in this and similar tender expressions, sincerely offered.

For years Sister S regularly mailed to our East Africa PO Box a one-dollar bill. Her monthly “widow’s mite” meant as much to us as any amount from any additional source, an outflow of a big generous heart.

Africa’s enormous land mass lies a good long way from America’s shores and visitors flying out to see us through those years were few. The lone pastoral visit we received from the U.S. in our two decades on the field happened in 1989.

Billy Shoffner’s southern drawl – which usually rolled out in easy, unhurried tones – betrayed a faint trace of urgency at one point during a game park visit. We had taken a break from church ministry for a day or two of sight-seeing.

I eased the diesel pickup toward a slow-moving herd of elephants. . . a little too near for Bro Billy’s liking.

The company of mammals had moved our direction. One especially large beast now lumbered within nearly arm’s reach to the pastor’s rolled-up window. The elephant paused there. A second or two passed. My old friend stirred in his seat before speaking.

“Ya know, Brother Jerry. . . you think it might be time now we kindly moved on past our friends here?”

Through all our years in the Lord’s service, there remain a handful of memories which when recalled, very specially warm our hearts. The faithful prayers and giving of supporting friends and family are included. Numbered among them, two shepherds paying a visit from from East Texas – half the world away – Billy Shoffner and James Walker.

Thank you.