But Did You… Pray?

But did you die?

I recently saw this on a bumper sticker on the back of a pickup truck, and I chuckled.

I understood its meaning. In other words, as long as one survived this-or-that—lived to tell the story—that’s what matters. 

But I got to thinking. There really is more, is there not?

As I drive around my rural western North Carolina community, I see reminders all around.

Many have survived—

• 2020 and Covid.
• Tropical Storm Fred.
• Hurricane Helene.

And there are numerous other possibilities—

• Financial ruin.
• Marital strife.
• Drug or alcohol addiction.
• Neglect.
• Abuse. 

For some, they’ve experienced and survived all of these.

Their story’s written on their faces, worn on their slumped shoulders, carried on their stooped and weary backs.

And you know what?

I’m not proud to say it, but sometimes—sometimes—I’ve heard myself thinking what that bumper sticker implies—

But did you die?

This question conjures snide criticism rather than compassion. It lacks sympathy, is void of empathy. 

After all, I, too, have survived certain difficult circumstances, lived to tell about it, so to speak.

• Heartbreak.
• Loss.
• Addictions of other sorts, at times.
• The death of dreams.

And perhaps you hear yourself asking–

But did you die? 

Obviously not, though, if I’m brutally honest, there were times I wanted to. At the very least, there were days I wanted to stay buried under the bedsheets rather than face the world.

If not for the prayers of others, the intercessions of those who love me or, in some cases, love those who love me, I’m not sure where I’d be.

Because prayer—it really does make a difference.

The Holy Spirit convicted me recently as I passed a raging man walking along the road. His arms flailed as his lips moved, and though I couldn’t decipher what he was saying, he appeared to be distraught, confused, furious.

And right then, interrupting my initial thought of What’s wrong with this crazy lunitic? I heard—

But did you… pray? 

Ouch. Truth was, I hadn’t. Hadn’t even crossed my mind. But those four words whispered to my heart stopped me in my cynical tracks, rerouted my thinking. 

More, they led me to repentance.

Oh, Father—forgive me.

Then, Though I don’t know what’s going on in this man’s life, You do. Won’t You bring comfort where he’s hurting, calm to the storm inside, peace to his troubled soul?

And so, now— when I come across a person sitting or walking along the road, parked out on the street, slumped over on a bench, or riding a bike with a panting dog tied to a tether, trailing behind—I pray.

• I pray first.
• I pray fast.
• I pray with feeling.

Yes, I pray to my Father who loves all and calls each His own. 

• God alone knows every need, every concern, every care.
• God knows why a person is hurting.
• God understands just what he or she needs.
• God holds each one in the palm of His hand.

And why?

Because of that slogan—

“But did you die?”

Yes. Yes, He did. And why?

So we–no matter who we are or what we’ve gone through–can experience everlasting life with Him.

“For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16 NIV).

Kind and compassionate Father, fill me with Your love that I might love others as You do–no matter their circumstance, no matter my understanding. And may the light of Jesus who died for filthy ol’ me shine through… always. Amen!