Yesterday I received an invitation to a challenge from a dear friend. Would you commit to pray for me every day for the next 30 days for 15 minutes? I’ll do at least two hours.

Every day?!!!??? I cried out. For thirty days?!!!???

Except for inhaling my java juice each morning, I don’t do ANYTHING every day for fifteen minutes!

I can’t do that! I protested. I am too busy. Plus, I am not even the praying type.

See, most of my praying barely reaches the interior of the ceiling of my skull anyway and what good is that going to do to anyone? In addition, even if these prayers reach beyond my cranium, the challenge seemed more like entering into a month long wrestling match with God, and last time I heard somebody doing that (for just one day!), guess who walked away crippled?

No. I am not going to do it. I said to myself, finally convinced. No way.

A long pause.

Hm…?

Er… would You like me to do it?

Even longer pause.

And even though I am not the math wiz either, I started doing a little math. There are 24 hours in each day. My kids learned this in Kindergarten. And 60 minutes in each hour. First grade. Now the calculator comes in handy. Sixty minutes times twenty four hours totals 1440 minutes I have each day. And 15 minutes is about 1 %. It’s like asking for a penny from a buck. A penny!

And you think that’s too much?!!

Suddenly, a crack appears in my crusted heart and mind.

I am the one who needs this prayer thing, more than my friend!

If love and compassion towards my friend (who, by the way, deserves so much more than just a meager one percent) couldn’t move me to crawl outside myself, the sobering truth about my distorted vision sends me out flying. It will do a world of good for my soul to peel my super-glued eyes off of myself for just a penny of my time and focus on somebody outside my puny universe of self-importance. And when one has peeked outside, who knows what other wondrous sights await everyone who accepts the challenge...

Lately I've been quite absorbed in undercover detective work. I tried to be as meticulous as I can be in my research. I've taken notes. Studied writings. Interviewed friends and relatives. Eavesdropped on conversations of complete strangers. And even though I found ample evidence, my conclusion is that the ultimate proof of God's love towards His wayward children can not be found (or should be even sought!) in our circumstances. It's like putting a cart before the horse. Or, rather, putting the cart and the horse, before a nice, brand new (red) BMW.

What are you doing?!!!???

Oh, nothing... just improving on Your work a bit... You don't mind, do You?

Every day I test God by wanting Him to prove His love to me (again!).

Give me this... don't give me that!!!! Leave me alone. Get me out of here! How could You?!!!! If You really loved me, You would not allow this in my life...

His answer? His final answer? But God demonstrates His own love toward us in this, while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Romans 5:8

Huh?

So, I scratch my head a little, thinking who it is that died. ... Then, I scratch my head a bit more, thinking who are those that He died for... and why He did it. ... Suddenly, my petty negotiations are swallowed by the torrent of the kind of love I know nothing about. The love that gives me, not what I whine for, but what His holy passion knows I need the most. A sacrifice that makes me, even me, holy and pure, through and through, in His eyes.