The Struggle: Why I Do What I Do

I live in constant awareness of the apparent foolishness of my lifestyle as an intercessory missionary at IHOP-KC.  As the world chugs forward in a steam of activity, I find myself cloistered for weeks at a time in a five mile radius in South Kansas City.  While I do regularly engage in hands-on, interpersonal ministry, what occupies most of my time is the hidden ministry of worship and prayer.  I am confident that the Lord has called me to this ministry.  But when hours, days and weeks become months and even years of toil that yield no measurable results, doubt creeps in and questions everything: "What are you doing with your life?"  In the wrestle of rediscovering the answer, I've found that God always speaks.

My Cloister: The Prayer Room

Last week I left my cloister to visit a residential home for at-risk boys.  Many of them have come from backgrounds of severe abuse and neglect. Because of their pasts, these children and teenagers have emotional and behavioral problems that have resulted in unsuccessful placements in foster care homes and even in adoptive families.  Their presence in the residential home indicates that they have a long history of pain and rejection.

We walked through the teenage dormitory, the hopeless atmosphere bearing down upon me.  The linoleum floor and unadorned walls were seen through the clinical pallor of flourescent lighting.  A sixteen-year-old volunteered to let us see his room, which was plain and uninviting.  Some from our group remained in the hallway and engaged him in conversation.  We asked him, "Do you like it here?"  Without an ounce of emotion, he shrugged his shoulders and said, "It's better than home."

As we drove away, I stared out the window, conflicting thoughts racing through my mind.  While we should be thankful that these boys haven't ended up on the streets, as they would in most nations, a Christ-less governmental institution is no place for these children to find true hope and restoration.  I began to go through different options in my mind: I could go to college and get a degree in counseling and child psychology, I could come back to work with them and tell them of Jesus' love, I could give up everything to become an advocate for the orphan...

And in the muddle of all of my "coulds", the doubtful question surfaced: "What are you doing with your life?"  With such injustice in the world, how could I justify spending the majority of my time and energy in a prayer room?  As everything that I've done in the past four years came into question, I felt God speak to me, tenderly insistent:

"But James, the ultimate injustice is that My Son is not universally worshiped and adored."

If all wrong things were made right;
if every orphan were placed in a loving home;
if poverty and hunger ceased to exist;
if oppression and slavery were completely eradicated;
if crime came to a screeching halt;
would we then be content?

A perfect utopian society that neglects to place the glorification and supremacy of Jesus at its center would be an abomination to God, a stench in His nostrils.  The 24/7 prayer and worship movement is seeking to right the ultimate injustice, believing that as the foundation of Jesus' preeminence is laid, justice in other spheres of society will result: "And will not God give justice to His elect, who cry to Him day and night?" (Luke 18:7)  That is why I do what I do.  That is why I spend most of my energy in a room, talking to the unseen God.  That is why ministry to the Lord is my first priority, even as I know that, in many ways, God will make me an answer to my prayers for the orphan.

A few days ago in the prayer room, I found myself overwhelmed with emotion as the Lord said to me over and over and over again:

"What you're doing is so significant.  It's so significant.  It's so significant."

He's good about answering my questions, every time.