Pray Big

The day before my fiance and I flew from the UK to the States for a friend's wedding, he left his passport on a train.

I got the text while shopping for a present for the bride. I stood there incredulous and teary, staring at nightgowns, as Jonny told me that the train carrying his backpack could be anywhere from central London to miles outside the city. The bag could still be tucked behind a seat, or it could be sat at any lost-and-found of any of the stations along the route. And we were leaving early the next morning for Tennessee.

The backpack also had his wallet, keys, security card granting access to his work building. Since there wasn't enough money on his travel card to get him home from work, I had to go to his office and give him cash. He walked me to an ATM; I punched in my PIN and tried to stop crying. I held out the £10, couldn't look at him. Anger was there, faintly. He's known for leaving things behind. But it was more disappointment than anything, the deepest disappointment I've known in a while.

I had to get to work, still sniffling on the bus ride back. I envy people who can hide their emotions. And I couldn't shake it, couldn't forget about it. I also envy people who can compartmentalize their emotions, put them aside. This colored everything I tried to do that day. I kept saying, "I cannot believe this is happening," over and over in my head.

Jonny called every train station on the route. He went to Waterloo, where the train terminated before going out again, and checked the ticket offices, Lost Property, and holding huts on all the platforms. Nothing. He was told that even if it was found that day, it would take about 24 hours to process through their recovery system. And we knew their security policy: any passports found must be destroyed.

The title of this article is "Pray Big", and I've said nothing about prayer yet. What's the difference between small prayers and big prayers, anyway? Maybe big prayers are those that seem most impossible to be answered. Or maybe they're the ones with the highest stakes.

My prayers that day consisted of, "Please, God. Please." That's all I found the heart to utter because I knew this was a Big Prayer. The odds of Jonny getting his passport back were close to zero. If the bag was found, it'd take too long to process. If they processed it, they'd destroy his passport as part of their security policy.

Sadly, my Big Prayer of "Please, God" became a statement of resignation: "Jonny is not coming with me on our 10-day holiday to see my family and celebrate my friend's wedding. I'm going alone."

I know at that moment Jesus would've said to me, like he did many times to his disciples, "Where is your faith?"

Jonny resolved to take me to the airport even if we didn't find his passport. He left work and had one last chance to check Waterloo for his bag. Still at work, I walked around holding onto my phone.

It rang and I hit the answer button, dreading to hear the words that would put the last nail in the coffin of our vacation.

"Shan? I have it."

I almost dropped the phone. I started crying even harder then, pure relief plus the aftermath of being so upset all day.

"It had just been handed in when I got there," he said, "and my passport was about 20 minutes away from being destroyed." He'd managed to convince the worker not to process it through their system and just hand it over.

I suddenly felt very small. Incredibly humbled. Maybe a bit ashamed. It had looked impossible to me, so I'd decided it must be. Could I be any more arrogant? Who was I to decide what was or was not possible? Hadn't I learned yet that, with God, probability has nothing to do with possibility?

We left the next morning and had an amazing time. Although during the trip, Jonny gave me permission to ask him every hour or so, "Where's your passport? Do you have all your bags?"

I heard an anecdote on a podcast recently that fits with this experience. It may or may not be true, but the lesson resonates with me.

Alexander the Great had a trusted general in his army whose daughter was getting married. Alexander said to the general, "I'd like to help out with the cost of the wedding; ask me for an amount."

So the general wrote an amount on a piece of paper and gave it to the treasurer. The treasurer stormed off to the emperor and waved the paper at him. "Look at this! Look how much he's asked you for! Who does he think he is?"

"Give it to him," Alexander replied. He took it as a compliment. "With such an outlandish request, he shows that he thinks me both rich and generous."

That story made me ask some questions. What do my prayers say about my view of God? Do I think he's able to answer big prayers? I realized that it's glorifying to Him to pray big, to "ask for the nations", because it's saying something about how I see Him.

In the grand scheme of life, my prayer about Jonny's lost passport was a relatively small prayer. It's tempting to think that God sees it that way, too, to think, "God's busy with more important things, like war and cancer and missing children." I think that's why this answered prayer humbled me and literally drew me into worship. It wasn't that my love for God was dependent on the prayer being answered. He owes me nothing. I found myself in awe of Him, to know that Someone so great heard and answered a cry from someone so small.

I've never felt so loved.

As life carries on, I have this to hold on to: God answered my prayer. When it seems like He's distant and I feel unheard, I can remember that God answered my prayer. When a situation seems impossible, I can glorify Him by asking for the impossible.

I have learned, and am still learning, to pray big.