One of my kids has been going through some significant emotional difficulties lately, and in my prayers I’ve been channeling that widow from Luke 18. You know her: the naggy one. The one who pestered the judge until he finally, out of sheer exhaustion, gave in. That’s me, Pit Bull Attaway.
Yet–perhaps because it’s Holy Week–Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane has been slipping into my mind too. I’m aware that His perseverance in prayer has a balance that doesn’t come through in the story of the widow.
It’s summed up with four words that I have to force up, slowly and reluctantly, from the depths of my soul. They’re the hardest prayer: Thy will be done.
Thy will be done, Lord, when it’s in accordance with mine, and Thy will be done when it isn’t. Thy will be done when I stand at the foot of the cross, when my heart pools with grief, when fear and sorrow and confusion are overwhelming, when I don’t understand why things need to be the way they are. Thy will be done at all times, in all situations, Lord. Yes, even the situations that I desperately don’t want.
Jesus said it, and Jesus lived it. If I want to follow Him, I need to pray as He did. Thy will be done.
