Pedal to the metal

Once upon a time I asked God for help. I was in a bit of mischief, at 11 or 12, playing behind the wheel of the family '82 Corolla. I somehow had obtained a set of keys... just, you know, swiped them from the key hook in the kitchen. Easy peasy. I went to the car and plugged the key into the ignition to turn on the radio. Innocent enough, right? Then I wanted to see what would happen if I KEPT turning the key. The motor started, and my eyes grew wide with the newfound possibilities and the POWER that the sound of the engine bestowed (well, as much power as an '82 Corolla can muster).

WHOA!

I turned off the ignition. And since that was as mischevious as I got (I was an otherwise pretty cautious kid), I stopped. I pulled the key out of the ignition... or... at least, I tried to. It was STUCK! The key was STUCK! You're probably laughing at how stupid all of this sounds, but I was horrified of being caught and getting into trouble.

I'm sure I had prayed many times before that moment, at mealtime, at bedtime, during Sunday school; but never so urgently until then. Never had I really, actually hoped for an outcome to actually occur. I prayed and tugged at the key with equal fury. How badly I wanted a miraculous, lightening-bolt moment. For the key to glide out all by itself and without any effort on my part. So I continued to tug until I gave up and, in all of my petty anguish, rendered my prayers useless. Still horrified at getting caught, and angry at God, I probably beat my head against the steering wheel. Somewhat disappointed and resolved to punishment, I fiddled around unceremoniously with the key. I turned the key counter-clockwise and suddenly--click-- the key was free!

It was ridiculous. All that time, that was all that I had to do! I started to congratulate myself on a job well-done, on a problem solved ALL by myself. Clearly, my prayers weren't answered because they weren't answered in the way I expected. Not in the midst of my fury, not instantaneously. Roma Downey didn't come and shoot a beam of light at the ignition. But then it dawned on me; my prayers HAD been answered. In the end the key was out, I was free from the impending doom. I was wholly relieved and my prayer WAS answered. God WAS listening, and there was no way I could possibly deny it.

In truth, I should have been caught and reprimanded. I was an unworthy scamp who didn't deserve grace or mercy in any form (still am, actually). In that silly, panicked moment, my adolescent heart needed to know if this whole God thing was real or not. The liberated key brought relief from the consequences I would have faced, but it also was a huge indicator of God's very realness, His goodness and my unworthiness.

Like I said, it's a silly story. But through it I learned that God's love and omniscience are often revealed in the smallest things, in the most mundane ways. So much so that it's tempting to take the credit for ourselves, to call it a "coincidence" and continue to rely on our own understanding, instead of giving glory and thanks to God. In light of St. Phanourios, whose feast day is today, we are reminded that intercessions are heard, our prayers are answered, sometimes in obvious way, and often times in ways we'll never understand in this life.

"Just pray about it." I've heard this response many times in my life, during times when I've just wanted dramatic, instant results. "Pray to God'... Yes, yes, of course, but is there anything ELSE I can do to make (insert whatever) happen? I remember once being given that advice by my father confessor, and my own response was an auto-pilot, Sunday-school answer, something along the lines of "Oh yeah, yes. 'Pray'-- Got it." And he looked at me and asked, "Do you REALLY believe that?" Hmm... Honestly, I had to think about it for a second. Do I? Lord, I believe, help my unbelief...
And I realize that faith is not a turn-key ignition start up, but a continual struggle, an exercise of the most strenuous kind, a daring stretch out of ourselves and into Christ.