Drive Thru Prayer

The sign said: DRIVE THRU PRAYER.

We looked and, sure enough, right next to the church driveway sat a guy in a folding chair under an awning.

I made my typical sarcastic remarks. “I need my prayer supersized. Can I get fries with that?”

We passed that church a few times during our days in that city. Despite my casual dismissal, I wish I’d stopped. I didn’t particularly want a quick prayer, but I’d like to know the story.

I wonder how many great conversations started beside that driveway. How many connections were made, how many relationships started, because he took time to sit by that driveway?

Did someone ever see the sign when they were at the end of the rope and decide it was worth a try even if they didn’t really believe?

I’ll never know, because I didn’t take time to find out. I was too busy. I’d already pre-judged, so I didn’t need to bother discovering what was really happening.

“Drive thru prayer” probably wouldn’t be my thing. Some folks think cranking a handcycle across the country is an odd way to engage others in conversations about hope and possibility, and they’re probably right. It’s okay, because Becky and I are doing what we can, where we are, with what we have. That’s all God asks.

What if the “drive thru prayer” folks were doing the same? Maybe this was one group’s way of reaching out. Maybe they met and connected with a lot of new people. Maybe some folks pulled over, got out of their cars, sat in the grass, and talked about life.

You see my point, right? This isn’t about handcycling or drive thru prayer.

It’s about taking time to hear the story, saying something as simple as, “Tell me more,” before deciding I know what’s going on.

I believe God uses a goofy dog and a handcycle to help people believe in hope. Perhaps He’s more creative than we realize.

Maybe He’s not limited to methods that meet my approval.

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