Everyone has that first prayer that really catapults them into their faith. There comes a time in our lives where prayer is not just a pastime we do for the sake of our religion. Usually it is due to some kind of disaster in our lives, or dramatic change. Either way it is generally connected to some form of fear. Some of us cannot remember our first real prayer because we don’t think of it that way. For me, it proved to myself that I really did believe in God. He was not just some hero we learned about and colored pictures of in Sunday school.

I was brought up in church, going to many different locations and hearing different “interpretations” of the Bible. It was interesting, but for the first few years I did not understand the true meaning. I generally just looked forward to services so I could see fellow classmates, eat cinnamon graham crackers and drink apple juice, all while playing games that have something to do with Jesus. It was such a fun time that I did not pay attention to the real meaning behind it; but that does not mean I did not pick up on it in my subconscious.

“And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by men. I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full. But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you. And when you pray, do not keep on babbling like pagans, for they think they will be heard because of their many words. Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him. – Matthew 6:5-8

My grandmother use to pray with me before bed, every night. She would clasp my hands and lead the prayer, always asking me to say my part until I was old enough to lead it myself. For a long time I looked at it as more of a chore than anything. Anytime my grandmother was mad at me she would give a whole speech about it in our prayers. I felt like I had to re-live the fights from earlier; but it was usually a great experience that I still cherish.

Those prayers were not anything too serious or personal, however. It was “babbling” as the verse says above. Now, even if you are babbling God hears you; but He focuses on the true prayers in your heart. Not the ones that you say just for the sake of praying. My first true, real, however you want to put it, prayer happened when I was around six or seven years of age. My family use to go through little stints of drinking alcohol. Whenever they did drink the amount of alcohol would always increase until none of them could handle it anymore and they would stop until the next.

I hated it because I felt alone. I did not see how drinking was fun because all it did was make the house smell horrible, them sleep, laugh, and fight a lot, and I found myself wishing for the day to end. As a child you should be enjoying the daytime, playing and learning new things. Instead I listened to arguments and got yelled at when I begged for attention. Then one day my family locked themselves together in the same room and all I could hear was raised voices. I got incredibly scared that something bad would happen. I cannot really remember how long this stint had lasted but I knew it was a little too long for my liking. I was scared that someone was going to get hurt, aside from myself. Luckily no one ever took out their drunken anger on me, but they would on each other and I hated seeing it. I was taught to love my family and stick by them always. I did not really feel like it this time; but I did not want to say anything either. I knew they would get angry and probably ground me or something or just laugh it off which at the time was just as bad.

I remember standing outside. It was a really sunny day with just a few clouds in the distance. A cold breeze was blowing outside, but I wore shorts and a tank top anyway. I always loved that chill of the wind while the sun was shining, so I stayed outside. I looked up at the smoggy blue sky and started shouting in my mind. I wanted to cry, but a part of me would not allow that. Instead, I started to pray. But it was not just filler words or anything. I needed help and I realized the ONLY help I would get was from God. It was at that moment that I realized God was not just a part of my family’s culture or way of life. That He was not some superhero created by an author in a random basement or something like John the comic writer in that “Garfield” cartoon.

I did not really realize the significance of that moment until a little while later. At that moment all I was concerned about was crying out to God and making sure He heard my plea. I did not want my family to continue hurting our ties because of one of man’s inventions. I think it was few weeks later that things changed and I noticed my prayers being answered. I then realized what had happened and that I could rely on God to listen to me any time I needed Him. My prayers from that moment on were no longer a chore or something I had to do. They were therapeutic in a way. I could not explain them or the release they gave me; but I can tell you now that without that experience I probably would not have gotten far in my faith at all.