Sweet Hour of Prayer

One of the unusual side effects of my diabetes journey is that I don't sleep as much as I previously did. Part of that, I think, is because I have more energy now and just require less sleep to function. Part of it, as much as I hate to admit it, may actually have very little to do with diabetes and more to do with the fact that I'm getting older. Nah ... that can't be the reason; it has to be the diabetes!

Last night was a stormy night here in Kansas City, and when I went to bed I thought, "It's a great night for sleeping." But, as often happens, after three hours of sleep, I was wide awake. After a trip to the bathroom, letting J.R. go outside and eating some peanut butter, I headed back to bed. Most nights when I wake up like that, I toss and turn for a while and eventually go to sleep again. But last night ... well, last night was different.

With J.R. and Julie snuggled in close to me because of the lightning and thunder, I began to pray out loud in my bed. My prayer was pretty generic at first ... you know the type I'm talking about ... thanks for everything, don't let the storm blow my house down, protect my kids. Just as I thought I was going to drift off to sleep, I felt compelled to get out of bed and get on my knees. And even though I'm often not, this time I was obedient to that still small voice and got up and knelt by the side of my bed.

Almost from the moment my knees touched the floor, I recalled the words of a friend from a couple of nights before encouraging me to listen more to what God was saying to me and less to the opinions or advice of other people. With tears rolling down my face, I began to ask ... no, I began to beg God to speak to me, to lead me, to guide me, to direct my steps, to show me His will, to wash me, to cleanse me, to humble me, to use me, to send me. Before I even realized it, I had shifted from my knees to being stretched out face down on the floor. But even more than the change in my posture was the change in my heart ... instead of asking, I was listening, really listening to my Lord.

When I finally climbed back into bed, an hour had passed. A sweet hour, indeed. A sweet hour of prayer. I'd say it was time well spent.