Prayer as a Lifestyle

As we were taking a beating from typhoon Ondoy, I immediately posted on Facebook the first thing that came to my mind, “Let’s pray without ceasing.”


Indeed, over the last three weeks—going on four—I have found myself doing exactly what Paul said in IThessalonians 5:17. My prayer time has been on fully charged, heavy-duty batteries; it just keeps going and going.

Many of our loved ones lost everything they ever saved for. Although we have been spared, we share their despair. We agonize over the daily sights and sounds of unparalleled devastation on TV.

I have not been alone. Most of the text messages, e-mails, and FB posts I’ve received from the time of Ondoy to Pepeng have the word “prayer.” Even on media and among hard-nosed businessmen, we hear the words, “Let us pray . . .” Prayer has become like a mantra.

In between those two terrifying typhoons, I got sick. Not ill enough to be wrestled away from writing, but I have never felt so blah in my life.

I call it tummy torment, which keeps me sleepless and restless at night. My medical test results have not come in. The anxiety of not knowing what’s wrong makes one even sicker.

On top of these is the sporadic news on Pepeng, due to the absence of electricity in stricken areas. The furious floods that rampaged over our province, Pangasinan, where I grew up, and where my parents’ house still stands, drowned half of the 45 towns; killed people, mostly children; washed away crops, homes, and dreams. And there are talks that an overflowing artificial dam will be released soon!

Our home church, still being refurbished as funds trickle in, and to where we sent all of my son’s musical instruments (drum set, amps, electric guitar, keyboard, etc.) is caked with mud.

For a year now, my siblings and I have been begging friends to donate their old books so we could convert our parents’ house into a public library, as a gift to the people of our town. There was generous response; books came from friends and kin here and abroad. Now those printed treasures are mired in stinky slime.

Our old piano, on which my sister and I learned our do-re-mi, and our late mother played hymns and kundimans, is gone forever.

Yes, we’ve all been praying because of . . .

Helplessness. We’ve done our best, but our best couldn’t begin to answer all our problems. Prayer acknowledges God’s power, way beyond our own.

Focus. We need to drag our mind away from all the misfortune, deaths and destruction. Prayer looks up; it keeps both mind and heart totally tuned in to God, begging for a respite from the incessant blasting of nature, worsened by man’s disregard for the environment.

But as a believer of grace, I think prayer should transcend helplessness and focus. As I have personally experienced over the last three weeks, prayer has become a lifestyle—my core, my middle—way beyond feeling helpless or needing focus.

I think that was what Paul meant when he said, “Pray without ceasing.” Every breath we take is a communion with God, in our conscious and subconscious mind. Every joy, pain, celebration, mourning, or step toward any direction is laid down at His feet. Somewhere along the way, when we least expect it, He generously gives us grace.

Prayer as a lifestyle means, every thought about others and of oneself is of God. It is something we cannot do without. It’s like water and light, which Jesus likened Himself to. Without both, we cannot live.

All told, prayer as a lifestyle allows us to get to know God in totality, in a vast personal way that can only be experienced, not explained.

Most of all, prayer makes us distinguish between what we want and what He wants—for us.

“Pray without ceasing,” Paul said. I say, Amen.