He reluctantly agreed with a nervous little smile,
then started in, “God…” and paused for a while.
He struggled intently for words to compose.
As each moment passed, the room-tension rose.
A silent prayer, not what I had in my mind,
but we all had one going for words he could find.
It was a long awkward silence; I had counted to ten,
when he finally yelled, "Help!" and a quiet, "Amen."
We all burst out laughing at what had occurred,
one masterfully spoken, deliberate word.
This spirit-filled man, I had put on the spot,
patiently waited for the answer he sought.
Our healing began from that heartfelt plead.
When we give it to God, He knows what we need.
With hope now replacing any thoughts of despair,
I thanked him for praying the perfect prayer.
The Perfect Prayer was based on a true experience I had at a high-school youth retreat. The scenario was slightly different, the impact was the same. This piece, one of my favorites, has been published in several publications. Sometime, I think, we make prayer too complicated.
