I have found that personal prayer consulting has been the most effective means for healing.  God is active. We say this often, and then we pray for wisdom for the doctor the plumber or the politician.  I ask and God replies. The prayer time is not Him responding to my demands or questions, but me asking Him what it is He wants me to know about His love for me and how this might relate to my life. 

In my personal prayer consulting (I consult God in prayer), I have learned that I often have a warped view of God.  Too easily I cower from a celestial bully barely tempered by grace, expecting my heavenly Father to be like a violent man I once knew.  I've begun challenging these assumptions in prayer.  Here's an example: 

The well worn quote from Teddy Roosevelt, "Speak softly and carry a big stick," came to mind as I stood with my hands in the air and my face turned toward heaven. I was not worshipping. I was questioning. I wondered whether God was speaking softly or warming up to begin whacking me with His big stick.

On May 16th we were in the basement and thought that perhaps our children were staging an elaborate flash mob dance above our heads. Unfortunately, no. The sound came when our washing machine began marching about on its own. It rocked the house. The door to the laundry room was violently blocked. With great effort, my husband was able to turn the insanity machine off. The next morning I phoned the man who had repaired our dryer last July. From a service call of $45, we found that our fancy high efficiency front loader was irreparable. We bought a rebuilt old fashioned model and had it delivered for $200.

Early the next week my husband began repairing our sink. The leak was a bigger deal than we expected. We ended up needing to replace the whole faucet. Not too big a deal, $100. Our former house had a hot tap and filter as well, and since we brought them along he decided to add those to the undersink work. 20 hours +$20 more.

Thursday, May 27th was chilly. It became quite cool in our house. Our four year old furnace broke. I phoned the company who installed it and found that the parts were still under warranty. A repairman came and put a temporary fix on it. He had to order a part and we all hoped the heat would stay on until the part came. For the service call and a plan which would, in the end, save us money, we spent $304.

A check engine light began glowing on our van's dash on May 24th. My husband optimistically scheduled a maintenance appointment for Friday, May28th. This was our first day out of school for the summer. It was not an auspicious start, but seemed practical and responsible.

The next day, May 25th, I was enveloped in a sudden cloudburst during my lunch break. Unfortunately I was also driving. The cloud was inside the car with me. Not the van with the ominous service light, our other car. I pulled to the side of the road and opened the hood.  Hood opening seemed the smart thing to do, but I had no idea what my next step was. Looking inside, I found a two inch long slit in a grey hose. It was a good thing the problem was obvious. Duct tape was readily available, so I taped it up and drove to the shop. Arriving in a glorious display, I checked our commuter car in. By the end of that day we paid the shop $688.

On the following evening, my spouse found himself at Home Depot with a shredded tire during a downpour. Our van, lights still glowing, now needed new tires. We scheduled that in.

To take care of my long suffering husband's wet grubby clothes, I used the new/reconditioned washer. The permanent press cycle seemed a bit off. I hoped it was a bit off, anyway. Using that setting I could actually wring water from the newly washed clothes. The other cycles worked fine, so denial seemed my best option.

The second furnace guy came on May 27th to install the new part. He was cordial, appreciated our fancy filtered water, and got the furnace running well. I was also offered the chance to purchase a new thermostat. Declining the top-of-the-line heat tuner seemed the best choice (it would have been another $150).

Thursday I was home alone and planned to use my quiet day doing laundry. About lunch time a violent stomping began in the small room above my head. This time I was certain the kids were not jiving above me. Angry, I called the man who sold me a busted washing machine. His vocabulary worsened, but I was pretty sure that he said he'd come Friday.

He did not come on Friday. Instead I stayed home waiting for the man in a cold house. It cooled quickly. Our son turned on the fireplace while I called the furnace people. It seemed that the repairmen might meet. Sarcastically I wondered if perhaps they'd become friends on Facebook. Then I had the opportunity to meet a new furnace serviceman (remember it I'd already seen them twice). He was very pleasant, as he fixed the problem. He called it an obstruction rather than a clog, making my pains more valid. I was very grateful that he didn't try to chat. It was gracious of him to leave me alone since I had to go to the auto shop.

When I took the van in for its repairs the cost was $537. Then I drove the large sliver wallet-grabber to Les Schwab. The new tires cost $403. I reminded God that teachers don't get paychecks during the summer.

Today, as I write, a leak has sprung in my living room. There is a slow trickle of water coming down the inside of the window to form a puddle on the sill. I ponder. Is this my transcendent moment? Do Christians even get to have those? What is the correct response? After getting a towel to mop the little lake, I call my husband and get his answering machine. Though he calls me back, neither of us are sure where to go from here--maybe Home Depot for caulk--but spiritually I am stuck. I wonder what my long expensive list means, and whether we will have to replace the siding on our house like many of our neighbors. We can pray that a whole bunch of caulk will do the trick, but God may answer, “No."

Adding up these incidents, it is hard to question my response (hands in the air, head toward heaven). Months later it still makes sense to me. I want to hurry up and learn my lesson before the next big disaster. Maybe, though, God is different than I expect. He usually is. In fact, I am really sure I don't know Him like I could. Knowing God is so much larger than the hit on my bank account, longer than all of the waiting for repairs, warmer than my currently-working furnace and more important than the puddle in my living room. I believe that is my purpose: to know Him. I believe that and then stuff starts breaking; I believe that and yet I continue to second guess His character.

"Speak softly, and carry a big stick," the proverb quoted by President Roosevelt, urges caution and non-aggression with the potential to use violence if required. God could act that way, this could be in His character; some people would argue for it. In prayer, though, I asked God what I needed to learn and He directed me to John 9. It was clear. I really expected something different, not John 9, maybe Joshua 7 (where the Jews loose in battle due to a hidden sin). In John 9, Jesus says that the struggles of a man born blind had purpose, "this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life."

While Joshua 7 (God's just and painful response to a sinful decision) is completely relevant, I am learning that sometimes John 9 is the answer. I wonder why it is that I expect the back of God's hand rather than the healing sanctified spit-enriched mud. Certainly I deserve the former. I am not saying that this series of expensive events could not be God's discipline. Truly, I expect that.

In prayer, though, that is not what God told me. Do I trust the voice of God enough to let this be a, "work of God displayed in (my) life"? I hope to.  It seems it would be easier to try to grunt my way through learning a lesson than to submit to my gentle Savior. If this were more like a class I could look at the figurative clock and see when it was going to be over. This time, though, the situation is not controlled. My effort and response to the situations do not determine the end point. God's ways are sometimes messy, maybe that's why Jesus used spit to heal the blind man.

It feels like I've been bathed in the broken break-dancing washing machine and am still soggy. I am resigned, but don't want to become a fatalist. Permanent press is only good for clothes, and only in a working washer. Obstructions are not what I want and my view of God may be a bigger blockage than I had in the furnace. My check engine light is bright orange, but I don't want a cloudy, shredded Teddy Roosevelt type of Jesus. To spend all this money, time and shivering and not be changed by it would be unworthy of the God I say I want to know. The disciples followed Jesus before He died on the cross and rose again. They were willing to give up their jobs, comfort and reputations to become like Him before they had even tasted the fish He cooked after His resurrection. He loved them and they knew it. Jesus changed lives all around them every day. His work was displayed in each of their imperfect lives. I'll rest in that... grab another towel for my leaky window and a tissue for my eyes.  

Jesus loves me and in prayer, I remember.