When David and I were first married, we went as Presbyterian missionaries to the Appalachian Mountains. There we made friends with a remarkable man named Father Killian Mooney, a Catholic priest who had come to Harlan County to serve a mission parish. Every morning he rose at four o’clock and trekked to a quiet place behind the church. He stayed there and prayed till 8:00 A.M.—four hours of prayer at a stretch, every day.
As I struggle to maintain a positive prayer practice, I’m in awe of Father Mooney’s power of concentration. I can see myself out behind that church, saying, “Okay, God, three hours and fifty-five minutes to go. What now?”
Recognizing my limitations as I set aside a time each morning to walk and talk with God, I take along some helpful guidelines I’ve read about. First, I center myself on God. I tell Him I appreciate the way He grows trees and fluffs clouds and paints the sky. Next, I tell God how very much I want to surrender to Him, to give all my problems to Him. I sigh, let go of the previous day’s failures and give them to my Father. I reaffirm the person I wish to become and thank God that despite my lapses, I am getting better. And then I listen.
“Is there anything You want to tell me, God?” I ask.
A breeze ruffles my hair. There is a long silence. A leaf sails on the soft wind and lands at my feet. I pick it up. My mind clears. I have a sense of well-being.
“Is there anything I can do for You today, Father?” I ask out loud.
A list forms in my mind. Check on Dot. Write a note to Ginny; she needs encouragement. Call and invite George to dinner.
I turn around and head for home. It’s going to be a great day!
Father, let me be as good a listener as I am a talker, as I commit myself to the practice of prayer.
