Praying in Tongues

A little over ten years ago, a young fellow we knew faced a major decision. He was in his early twenties and it seemed his entire life—and the life of his wife—would be determined by this one decision.

We were quite involved with them. We were also newly retired. I wasn’t used to having Ken around all day and I felt self-conscious when I tried to pray. But the burden was intense. I finally told Ken I needed to get away.

We owned a lake lot at the time—with nothing on it but a leaky trailer. I had never driven there from Fargo (our home after retirement) on my own. On a cloudy, miserably cold spring day, I couldn’t sit comfortably in a park, so the lake lot with trailer was my destination. And because my heart was heavy, I began praying in tongues almost immediately. I have no idea what I prayed. That’s the beauty of tongues.

With confidence I took the first exit at Barnesville, not realizing that two highways exit the freeway about two miles apart. I should have passed the first and taken the second. And because I was praying, I didn’t look at the scenery or catch my mistake until I came to a small town I’d never seen before—and the junction I anticipated was nowhere in sight.

I would have turned if I knew which direction to take—remember, it was cloudy. Help came when another nice-looking young fellow told me I was driving north instead of east. I followed him to a landmark and made my way without further confusion.

That's an important part of the story, but not the main point. I kept praying in tongues. Couldn’t stop. When I finally reached our lot and entered the cold trailer, I didn’t know how to turn on the furnace—so I turned on the oven and burners—no small feat—before sitting down to pray.

Huddled in my jacket I wondered. What? What could I pray? I wasn't worried about theological implications, but I didn’t know God's plan for the couple.

God, I cried, what should I pray? Silence.

Then came a quiet thought, an inner prompt: Pray that he chooses life.

And so I did. Out loud. God, I pray he chooses life. Pause.

God, let him choose life. Pause.

Please, God, give him a desire for whatever will bring life.

You get the idea. Those and similar statements might have lasted all of a minute—but I doubt it—before I totally exhausted the content of my prayer in English.

I felt very foolish sitting there. So I turned the burners and oven off, locked up the trailer and drove home. And when I tried to continue praying earnestly in tongues, I couldn’t. I could only praise God with a loud voice—sometimes in song. I had a good time.

Telling Ken about it later—of course, he lectured me about the two exits—I could only conclude the praying had been done while I drove. Perhaps it was okay to get lost—the extra hour on the road provided almost twice as much time as planned.

And I’ve thought about the content of that prayer. The importance of the young man's decision can’t be overstated. I wasn’t sure, but I felt his salvation might depend on it. It turned out his health depended on it, too. And I never would have thought of something so simple on my own—so simple, but covering all the bases. I’ve recently read others say we must choose to follow God—and they use the phrase, Choose life. It was a new concept to me at the time.

The young man is in his mid-30s now. He’s walking with the Lord and he’s healthy. God has been with him and his family. I’ll never know for sure the significance of my part in the decision, but I’m convinced God did something that day.

And I’m so grateful for the gift of praying in tongues.

Next time I'll explore thoughts on the relationship between the Holy Spirit and the earthly life and ministry of Jesus. Today, it seemed a story with human interest would be helpful.