Experiencing God Through Prayer

I thought I knew what fifteen minutes of silence felt like. Then I set a timer.

I had been getting up in the morning to spend time with God, listening for guidance. It seemed like a substantial stretch of quiet. In reality, it was a few minutes, eight at best. Finding a full fifteen minutes was harder than I expected.

Jeanne Guyon’s Experiencing God Through Prayer led me to try unfamiliar ways of praying. I would not say I loved the whole book. Some parts did little for me at first. But the practice it encouraged, and a question it raised near the end, reached places in me I had not understood.

“I am here, Lord; I am listening”

At first, silence mostly made me aware of how noisy my mind was. There were things to do, thoughts to chase, and the nagging question of whether I was wasting time. When the thoughts finally quieted, I became sleepy.

I kept repeating, “I am here, Lord; I am listening.” Eventually I nodded off, or thought I did. I woke with what seemed to be a Bible reference in my mind: 1 John 5:38. There is no such verse. I looked instead at 1 John 5:3–8, a passage about faith, obedience, and overcoming.

It encouraged me at a time when memories of who I had been were threatening to define who I was. I spent time slowly reading and reflecting on that passage, following the approach Guyon describes.

Not every time of prayer felt like that. On another occasion, I heard nothing, felt nothing unusual, and simply sat in silence. Afterwards I went to bed and slept more restfully than I had in some time. The quiet itself had been restful, even without an experience I could explain.

The questions I brought to God

During one period of quiet, I began asking God about my life and direction. I felt answers coming before I had finished the questions. It was extraordinary to me.

And then I found myself trying to think of another question. I believed I was having this remarkable conversation with God, and what did I ask? Whether I should rent a retail space with a business partner.

Seriously, Olaf? That was what you wanted to know?

The experience delighted me, but I also needed to consider what I believed I was hearing. Discernment means taking care over how we understand an experience, rather than assuming that our first interpretation must be right.

A calling, a neighbour’s car, and a day with my wife

One question mattered especially: was God calling me to be a pastor? I felt underqualified and had been wrestling with the possibility. During that period, three separate conversations seemed to affirm it. In one, a friend praying about someone else’s difficulties said he believed God was calling me “pastor.”

I understood those moments as encouragement toward a direction God was giving my life. They did not make me feel suddenly qualified, but they helped me keep responding.

Other moments were much more ordinary. During prayer at about one in the morning, I felt I should shovel the snow away from a neighbour’s car. So I went outside and did it. While shovelling, I asked God why I was there, apart from the obvious benefit to the neighbour. The word I understood in response was “obedience.”

On another day, I asked what God wanted me to do and felt the answer was to love my wife. How awesome is that? I felt as though I had been given a holiday. We had a wonderful day together, and I was delighted by the thought that God cared about that part of my life, too.

When the silence became welcome

Eventually, I had days when stopping after fifteen minutes was harder than reaching it. Twice I remained quietly attentive for more than half an hour. On another morning it was an hour.

Some of those experiences are still difficult to put into words. I felt a sense of communication and peace without being able to describe exactly what was happening. Trying to explain it could sound like a riddle.

What I could describe was the effect: I kept smiling when I thought about it. I felt as though a battle had been won before I had even understood I was fighting one.

Pressure, distraction, and the need for help

There were also difficult stretches. Pressure on our family and business affected how I saw myself. When I felt unable to provide, my sense of worth suffered. That drained my motivation, which made it harder to deal with the very problems troubling me.

Writing about it helped me recognize the pattern. I could keep the appointment for prayer and still struggle to connect. I would read, sit quietly, fall asleep, wake up, and try again. The book did not feel especially significant to me in that part of the experience.

I was also facing recurring temptation. I asked a trusted Christian friend to support me in keeping my commitments, and I sought prayer and counseling. I was grateful that help was becoming easier to ask for.

During the same period, I began thinking about a personal mission statement: a clear expression of the purpose I wanted my life to serve. Prayer was drawing my attention toward decisions as well as experiences.

What if I cannot feel God’s presence?

Guyon’s emphasis on loving God and enjoying his presence initially raised an objection for me. What about the long stretches when I did not feel that presence? How was I supposed to enjoy something I could not sense?

At first, I thought a better emphasis might be loving God and enjoying obedience to him. I could keep responding to him even when the feelings were absent.

Romans 12:11–12 became an encouragement during a difficult time: keep serving, remain hopeful, be patient in trouble, and continue in prayer. Those words gave me direction when my own prayers felt jumbled.

Getting up and responding

A family visit to Cape Cod disrupted the routines I had developed while studying at Nyack. Afterwards I spent less time praying and reading and more time drifting through the internet and movies.

I blamed the change in circumstances and interpreted some of the struggle as spiritual opposition. Then I recognized how passive I had become. Whatever I believed was opposing me, I still needed to get up and respond.

I also had to face the number of directions in which I was trying to move. I believed God was calling me toward pastoral work, but I was continuing to pursue everything that had occupied me for years. Some things would have to go. I did not yet know which ones, and those decisions involved our livelihood.

Ephesians 6 gave me another way to pray. Its picture of spiritual armour helped me ask God for the truth, righteousness, faith, and readiness I needed to stand firm. I wanted to learn to use Scripture well and to follow through on what I believed.

Learning to receive love

One evening I wrote out a prayer as a conversation. I was frustrated by my repeated failures and asking how I could be free of them. In what I understood as God’s response, the question that kept returning was whether I loved him.

That question brought me to tears. My answer was yes, and the response I sensed called me to listen, study Jesus’ words, and follow him. The conversation made God’s love, and the cost of Christ’s love, feel painfully personal. I wanted to answer with love and obedience.

I share that as my experience of prayer, rather than words I expect someone else to receive as a message for them.

The discovery I did not expect

Near the end of the book, Guyon returned to the idea of enjoying God. I resisted it again. I had thought of our purpose as bringing delight to God, and I was uncomfortable putting the emphasis the other way around.

Then I began to see what was underneath my objection. Deep down, I did not believe I was good enough to enjoy him.

When I experienced joy in God’s presence, I could feel guilty afterwards. Why had he let me come that close when there were holier people he could have spent time with? I was trying to do enough good for him to take pleasure in my efforts while quietly doubting that I belonged with him.

I came to recognize that belief as false. God’s love was the reason I could enjoy him in the first place.

I did not love every part of Guyon’s book, but I am grateful for that discovery. Without it, I do not know how long I might have continued carrying an assumption I had never named. My prayer became a simple one: freedom to enjoy the God who loves me.

Book discussed

Jeanne Guyon, Experiencing God Through Prayer. Scripture references: 1 John 5:3–8; Romans 12:11–12; Ephesians 6:10–18. Guyon’s discussion of enjoying God appears on pages 97 and 136 of the copy I read.