On My Knees

When I left my house on Saturday morning, I wasn’t expecting to end up on my knees three times before arriving home that afternoon. But sometimes the thing one least expects is the exact thing that needs to happen.

In Isabelle’s mind, age three, when someone celebrates her birthday, he/she deserves to hear a loud singing of the “Happy Birthday” song. To sing it quietly in a restaurant is not acceptable.

And so…after a delicious birthday lunch honoring my friend Rachel, Isabelle, Angela, Rachel, and I processed into the restaurant’s parking lot for delicious cupcakes and Isabelle’s rousing rendition of “Happy Birthday.”

To help Isabelle voice the song, I bent down so that I was on eye level with her, which meant that we were looking up at Rachel as we sang. It’s amazing how different the world looks—quite literally—when you allow yourself to see it from a different angle.

As I knelt on my knees in the parking lot, I noticed Angela’s back passenger’s side tire. It looked really low. So I got up, walked to the tire, kicked it, and realized that it was very low. Then I got back onto my knees and checked the tire for a nail or other metal impaling object, but I felt nothing. Yet the tire wasn’t safe to drive on for very long, so we made a plan to get to the nearest gas station.

A few minutes later, Rachel led the way, with Angela and Isabelle in the middle, and me following behind. As we processed down the road in our three cars, I thought to myself, “This is a perfect image of what friends do. When one has a need, the others surround her to make sure she is taken care of.”

When we got to the gas station, I once again found myself on my knees—this time putting air into Angela’s tires while once again looking for nails. As I knelt in yet another parking lot and Angela, Isabelle, and Rachel and I talked once again, I couldn’t help but smile at the whole situation. Gravel digging into my knees and all, it was such a uniquely beautiful moment of friendship.

…

Many years ago, I found myself very burdened for the people in my life. I made it a habit to go regularly into my prayer room and spend time in prayer for those for whom I was burdened. I vividly remember one of those prayer sessions when all I could do was cry—and I was crying so deeply and passionately that I literally collapsed onto the bed. As I lay there and wept, feeling completely helpless yet praying for God to hear the prayers in my tears, I suddenly found myself thinking, “Greater love has no one than this that he lay down his life for his friends.” No. I’m not Jesus. And, no, I wasn’t offering to die for my friends. But I was laying down my life for them—quite literally—prostrate—praying the most fervent prayers that I could pray—loving in the deepest way that I could love.

…

I haven’t been visiting my prayer room recently. Life and work have hijacked my time and transformed my prayers into words and thoughts prayed throughout the day, every day, with pretty much every breath that I take.

But maybe I should start revisiting my prayer room.
And maybe I should hit my knees more often—
Not necessarily to sing Happy Birthday or to check tire pressure in parking lots,
Although those adventures are welcome—
But to offer prayers of safety, hope, courage, and peace
For the people that I so dearly love—
Three-month-olds, three-year-olds, and 93-year-olds alike.

Join me?