My family lives in the mountains of Auberry, California, just east of Fresno, about an hour from Yosemite National park. Our house, nestled at the end of a dirt road, is rather isolated, which we appreciate. it's quiet, safe, and a wonderful place to raise kids. But recently something occurred that jarred our comfort. At six forty-five one evening, the power went out, and we unexpectedly found ourselves in pitch darkness.
"I have a prayer request," three-year-old Seth blurted out as we huddled together on our living room couch, holding flashlights. Dropping to his knees, he said, "Dear Jesus, please turn on the power so we can see. In Jesus' name. Amen." Then he opened his eyes, looked around, and blurted out, "Daddy, the power is still out!"
"Give Jesus some time," I replied calmly. "He doesn't always answer our prayers right away. Be patient."
Because Seth was frightened by the total blackness, our family all slept in one room that night. At 9:00 P.M. we still had no power. At 10:00 P.M. there was no change. Around midnight, I heard the heater start up, so I knew the power was restored. Then, at about a quarter after six, Seth jumped out of bed and began looking for one of his toys. "I need the flashlight," he whispered.
"Just turn on the light," I replied with a sleepy grin. He did, and I love his response. "Whoa! he said with a huge smile, "Jesus answered my prayer!"
I know this is a rather down-to-earth story, but the spiritual condition of our twenty-first-century world is a lot like the little town of Auberry on that dark Tuesday night.
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