Creatively Praying for a Group of Teenagers - an Elaborate "Story" Prayer

Pray for 60 teenagers. Most folks would read that and maybe think that I work at a church or something. No, I'm not a youth pastor; I'm simply a guy who had God tell him to do the most absurd, ridiculous thing: Pray for a certain group of teenagers. And it wasn't just for one person. No, not by a long shot. Sixty. Yeah, Six Zero. Pray for them. By name. Every day. How that all came to be (encompassing a four year span) will have to wait. In the meantime, I'd like to share one of my methods of creatively praying that I've used with a large group of teens.

Four years of praying for the same people.

I often get asked how I could pray for so many people each day. It is work; don't let anyone tell you it isn't. But it's also a work filled with joy. And it was a work I knew I was supposed to do. Sometimes the prayers were simple, and sometimes elaborate. I'm going to share one of the more elaborate with you. I got this idea from the Roman Centurion who imagined a certain outcome with Jesus. You can read about him in Luke 7:1-10. This guy imagined Jesus helping him in a certain fashion, and Jesus honored that guy's request. The woman with the issue of blood had a similar imagination. "If I can just touch his clothes..." Mark 5:25-34 and Matthew 9:20-22 tell her story. My method of creatively praying accomplishes a similar task.

How I started on this particular creative prayer may surprise you. In a nutshell: I didn't feel like praying.

I didn't want to pray.

Yeah, that's right. On this particular morning, I looked at the list of sixty teen names, and I felt coldness within. I just plain didn't feel like praying. Mind you, at this point, I'd been praying for these young people for over 500+ consecutive days, so it wasn't like I'd been slacking off. But, when I polled God as to whether I could just "take the day off" and skip... well, I got a different response. Match your environment to the way you feel right now. A picture came into my mind. I imagined a snowy, desolate landscape. Barren grey trees and an old barn could be seen amid a falling snow. The scene felt cold and dead... until I saw the farmhouse. Off to the right was a warm, inviting home with a huge wraparound porch. Through yellow lit windows, a crackling fire could be seen in the fireplace. Unseen goodies baked in the kitchen. A luscious table could be seen, spread with all varieties of delicious fare. The farmhouse scene flooded me with joy, for I saw this farmhouse as a picture of God. This is where Jesus was. This is where He waited. For guests. I now knew my mission.

Matching my feelings to my environment.

It doesn't happen often, but this day was a frigid cold Florida morning (Yeah, it does happen occasionally). Since I felt cold toward prayer at this moment (while I drove down the Interstate), I decided to turn off my car's heater and crack open the windows. What little heat I'd been enjoying, vanished instantly.

I then made a commitment: I would not close the windows nor turn the heater on, until I'd brought each of these teens to Jesus. That meant "looking" and "searching" through the wintry scene of my imagination and finding each individual. Then, I would allow God to guide me in how to pray them into His presence.

I grabbed my list of names and started in. Several of the boys were quickly "found" enjoying differing kinds of amusements. One was riding a snowmobile, while others looked on. One girl was on skis. Yet another just wandered aimlessly. I waved them each down.

"Jesus is waiting on you," I called to them, then pointed.

Their faces lit up as they looked toward the farmhouse. "Go to Him," I said. Then I "watched" as they trudged through the snow, up the steps and walked through the front door. I saw Jesus' expression brighten as he recognized each one. Then He hugged them, an inexpressible joy splashed across each face. The cares of their worlds had been left outside in the wind and cold. I turned to find more.

One by one I searched for more teens and pointed them to the farmhouse, and as I did, I began to see the snow and desolation as the empty and sinful things that we all try to fill our lives with. Godlessness lived in the snow, in the cold. God, let them leave those things that profit little or nothing. Let them go to You. Let them be refreshed and edified inside the warm, cozy house of Your love. Let them eat and drink and enjoy Your goodness and grace!

In my car, I shivered. The cold in my physical environment supplied urgency to my prayers and realism to my creativeness. My teeth were chattering, and I wanted to go into the house (which would mean I could turn the heater on) but I would not go until every name, every person, was accounted for.

No one left behind.

Just as each of these teens is uniquely created with one of a kind personalities - inside my prayer, I would find them in unique and varied locations. Sometimes they were behind the barn, or in a tree, or down near a frozen pond. Some were in groups, others sitting in lonely, huddled solitude. To each I called. I pointed. Some had to be reasoned with (Isaiah 1:18) and convinced that leaving the cold (of the world) and going to the warmth (of God) was indeed a wise and good choice. Though some were stubborn (aren't we all?) each eventually, and to my shivering relief, left the cold and headed to the farmhouse, to Jesus.

This was going great! I was making good time as a creative prayer intercessor, and was feeling pretty snug at my "search and rescue" prayer mission. I was nearly done -- until I hit the last name on the list. Lisa. (not actual name) I found her out in the snow. All alone. (She was the last, after all) And guess what? She wouldn't budge.

The girl wouldn't move.

I remember looking over at my car's heater switch and thinking, "Only one more to go! And then I get to go in the house!" But, I was to learn something new here in this world of creative intercessory prayer. It wasn't about me and my will.

As I looked at this dark haired teenager, shivering in the cold -- my last name on the list -- I thought for sure that she'd heed my call to the warmth, to safety, to God. But, no. She stubbornly shook her head and refused to budge.

"You need to go to the house, Lisa. God is waiting for you."

No response. She just began staring at the ground.

Why wasn't this working?

I actually dropped out of my creative scene and began to pray for her from my heart. What was she struggling with that was keeping her from seeking God's face, His love? I asked God to break through her stony heart and to warm her through and through. And as I shivered in my self-inflicted frigid wind tunnel, and struggled to find some way to bring her to the farmhouse, the futility of the situation hit me. Would I have the courage to honor my commitment? Would I 'freeze' out here with her, rather than seek shelter myself?

I decided that I would. I'd freeze right alongside her.

And in that moment of surrender, I realized that it wasn't up to me. No matter how many enticing words, or convincing gestures I conjured up, it wasn't me that could do the saving. It wasn't my power that could help. It was God's. Lisa needed Jesus.

So, I headed straight for the farmhouse. As I walked through the front door, light and joy spilled across the threshold. The smell of fresh bread, the laughter of my young friends... oh, how I wanted to stay, but not everyone was here yet. There was still work to be done.

I motioned for Jesus' attention and he walked quickly toward me.

"It's Lisa," I told him. "She won't come inside. I've tried everything. Can you help?"

He looked at me and smiled, and motioned for the door. We both headed out into the swirling storm. I shivered again. It seemed that the storm was getting worse.

We found her in the same barren, snow-swept field. She stood shaking, with arms clutched around her chest, her feet stamping slowly in the snow. I pointed and Jesus looked right at her, a look of compassion on his face.

I wasn't sure what to do. Was I supposed to call out to Lisa? Was I supposed to --

And then Jesus called her name. With a cry she BOLTED from the spot and ran, tears flowing freely down red cheeks. First she ran to His embrace, crying on his shoulder. Then, with a smile, she pulled back and ran to the farmhouse.

There were tears in my eyes at the scene. What had just happened here?

Do you trust the Holy Spirit?

When Jesus and I finally walked into the warmth of the farmhouse, I cranked up my car windows and flung the heater on full blast. There's something special about being an intercessor, a prayer intercessor. I don't pretend to be an expert at it. When it comes to this school of prayer, I still feel like a freshman. Still, I'm learning, testing, growing. Though the physical warmth in the car began to pull the chill from my bones, something else tugged deeper within me. I knew that God had used my creative prayer in some special way. I didn't have to explain to Him what I was trying to accomplish with these prayers, He knew, and in the process He'd changed me also. I'm finding that He's molding me closer and closer to the heart of my fictional character Hugh, a praying teenager from my short story, He Holds My Hand. And though God doesn't explain His ways, and why He leads me to pray in the way He does, He did graciously allow me to learn that this particular girl, on this particular day, had needed special help. Not just any help... God's help.

If you feel led and decide to creatively pray for a group of people I hope you'll allow God's Holy Spirit to guide you throughout the process. If your own creative prayer "story" isn't working out like you thought it should, stop and take notice. It may very well be God doing some story editing. And when it comes to stories, there's no better editor than He!