Do you ever secretly suspect God might not be interested in your prayers? You've prayed and prayed, but "nothing happens."
I know this feeling.
Diana and I pray regularly for our neighborhood. We do not pray for their prosperity or health, or jobs. We pray for one thing only: their salvation.
We’ve prayed for years—in many cases, by name—for our neighbors. Truthfully, we’ve gone for long stretches when there appears to be no discernible spiritual pulse at all up and down our street. Nothing seems to be happening.
Then came the week between Christmas and New Year’s.
That’s when the neighbors across the street invited us over for dinner. Before the night was out, they mentioned they were just beginning to read the Bible. Diana and I shared how much the Bible has shaped our lives.
The neighbors happen to be Catholic and presumed I was a Catholic priest. But they learned otherwise—and we had a blast sharing about Jesus together. What a fantastic time!
Just a few days later, my footsteps crunched on the icy slush of a winter storm when a familiar pickup truck drove by. The guy honked, and I recognized him as a neighbor down the street. We don't really know each other—he lives many houses away. But we’ve been waving hello for months now.
Long story short: this truck pulled into the parking lot, and the guy rolls down his window, asking if I'd like a ride home. For a moment, I babbled something about getting in my 10,000 steps. But then an inner voice seemed to say, “Yo! Wake up, Jon!”
So I climbed into his cab and met Shane, a construction worker. At last—a name for the truck guy who waves in the morning.
After being dropped off, Diana and I got an idea. Why not go to Shane's house and give him a small thank you gift for the ride (any excuse to build a bridge, right!). So we knocked on his door bearing a box of chocolates, which brought big smiles from Shayne and his family. We chatted a moment, and I left my cell phone number on the gift-tag before saying goodbye.
On the surface, none of this appears earth-shattering. Yet as I ponder the crunch of my steps on the frozen slush that day, I wonder if I might also have heard the echo of the footsteps of God walking through my icy neighborhood.
Keep praying. Don’t quit.
And listen for the footsteps of God.