I'LL PRAY FOR YOU: a purely speculative essay
Why do we ask God to bless the people in our lives? Doesn't He long to pour down blessings on His children? Wouldn't He do it without reminding? Doesn't He bless us anyway, whenever we make ourselves the least bit worthy and willing to receive?
The answer I've come up with is pure conjecture, but it's based on personal experience that is both specific and unusual, so I thought I would share it.
I have a fatigue disorder that seriously limits the amount of energy my body can produce. Today, after many years of successful treatment and diligent self-care, I can function reasonably well as long as I take several short resting periods during the day. But there was a time when I could not function. In fact, my condition was so severe that I could not move or talk for two years.
During my long convalescence and recovery, I diligently monitored my energy level. I noticed very quickly what filled my energy tank and what depleted it because I did not want to become bedridden again.
And I noticed something very strange. Prayer could deplete my energy. Not when I was giving thanks and not when I asked a divine favor for myself. But definitely when I was asking a blessing on another person. I don't mean that I felt a spiritual or emotional drain. I mean that I was actually physically tired after saying a prayer for someone. I had to limit the number of such prayers I offered in any given day, because it was dangerous for my energy to drop too much.
This observation reminded me of an interesting story in the New Testament. A woman with a terrible illness believes that Jesus has the power to heal her. Her faith is so strong that she is certain that if she can merely touch his clothing, she will be healed. She doesn't try to talk to him or catch his attention, she just pushes forward through the people that are crowding him and touches the hem of his robe. And is immediately cured.
Jesus stops, turns around and starts looking through the crowd. "Who touched me?" he says.
His apostles are confused, maybe even a bit annoyed: "Thou seest the multitude thronging thee, and sayest thou, Who touched me?"
But Jesus was aware that something significant had happened because (as the author of this gospel explains) strength "had gone out of him." (see Mark 5 and the footnote to verse 30)
Like many people who believe in prayer, I have a list to remind me of the people and situations that I care about. But I have to be selective on any given day. In fact, my first prayer of the day is often a prayer about who to pray for. Because I can't risk going through the entire list. I would lose too much energy.
And God seems to be very aware of this. I've even been prompted to cross a few names off; that prompting comes with a reassurance that God loves them and will care for them, but that I'm not supposed to spend my limited energy praying for them. And occasionally when I offer up a prayer for someone, I will first feel my energy drop and then receive an an immediate and miraculous replenishment. This is rare and I respond by praying for them repeatedly that day.
So this is my conjecture I believe that when I offer a prayer in someone's behalf, I am offering something that even God cannot access without my permission. I am offering a transfer of my love and my faith and even my strength.
Years ago, I remember that President Spencer W. Kimball had been very ill. After he had recovered somewhat, he delivered a short address in General Conference. He thanked the saints for their prayers and said he had been strengthened by them.
I like the idea that I can actually offer something of value to the Lord. Not that He needs me to accomplish His will. Surely He can do that without me and my prayers. But maybe my prayer is like the loaves and fishes that a little boy once offered to Jesus. The Savior didn't really need the child's offering. He could have fed the multitude by turning stones into bread.
But I'm sure that the gift delighted Him. And that the generosity of the little boy added something unique to the miracle that followed.

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