All my life, I’ve critiqued prayers.

In third grade Sunday school class, I giggled when the Schroeder boy asked God for a new bicycle. We all giggled, knowing we weren’t supposed to pray for things like that. We were supposed to pray for the missionaries and our soldiers in Vietnam.

In my teens, I rolled my eyes at every “thee” and “thou.” Too flowery and old-fashioned for me. And our preacher’s voice in prayer at the beginning of a sermon? Too dramatic, too rehearsed, with the appropriate octavelong drop beseeching his “Gawd.”

Soon, my giggles and peeves turned to cynicism. No one was immune, not the struggling dieter who wanted God to keep her from overeating, nor the group in a prayer meeting that ticked off a review of sick relatives.

I began sitting through prayer meetings, biting my lip to keep from making sarcastic remarks about prayer lists — numbered requests to check off when things turned out the way we wanted so everyone could agree, “Isn’t God good?” Sometimes, I’d draw my mouth into a thin line to keep from sneering at all the other devices I wrote off as gimmicks designed to make us feel God would somehow hear us better.

Then in prayer group one morning, everything stopped, like the drop of the curtain on a theater stage, bringing the drama to its muffled halt. Only not in the room, not in the eight women in our prayer circle. In me.

Discreetly tucked away in a corner, where I had disentangled myself from what I labeled formula and shallow language, I heard my name.

“Barbara, would you lead us in prayer?”

A young lady named Sally, relates an experience she had in a seminary class, given by her teacher, who we’ll call Brother Smith. She says Brother Smith was known for his elaborate object lessons.

One particular day, Sally walked into seminary and knew they were in for another fun day. On the wall was a big target and on a nearby table were many darts. Brother Smith told the students to draw a picture of someone that they disliked or someone who had made them angry . . . and he would allow them to throw darts at the person’s picture.

Sally’s girlfriend (on her right), drew a picture of a girl who had stolen her boyfriend. Another friend (on her left), drew a picture of his little brother. Sally drew a picture of Brother Smith, putting a great deal of detail into her drawing, even drawing pimples on his face. Sally was pleased at the overall effect she had achieved.

The class lined up and began throwing darts, with much laughter and hilarity. Some of the students threw their darts with such force that their targets were ripping apart. Sally looked forward to her turn, and was filled with disappointment when Brother Smith, because of time limits, asked the students to return to their seats.

As Sally sat thinking about how angry she was because she didn’t have a chance to throw any darts at her target, Brother Smith began removing the target from the wall.

Underneath the target was a picture of Jesus . . .

A complete hush fell over the room as each student viewed the mangled picture of Jesus; holes and jagged marks covered His face and His eyes were pierced out.

Brother Smith said only these words, “In as much as ye have done it unto the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto Me.”

No other words were necessary; the tear-filled eyes of each student focused only on the picture of Christ. The students remained in their seats . . . even after the bell rang . . . then slowly left the classroom, tears streaming down their faces.

“And the King will answer and say to them, ‘Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of Mine, even the least of them, you did it to Me.’ (Matthew 25:40)

I’ll say what you want me to say, dear Lord
Real service is what I desire;
I’ll say what You want me to so, dear Lord,
But don’t t ask me to sing in the choir.,

I’ll say what You want me to so, dear Lord,
I love to see good things come to pass;
But don’t ask me to teach boys and girls, dear Lord
I’d rather just sit in my class.

I’ll do what you want me to do, dear Lord,
I yearn for the kingdom to thrive;
I’ll give you my nickels and dimes, dear Lord
But please don’t ask me to tithe.

I’ll go where you want me to go, dear Lord
I’ll say what you want me to say;
But I’m busy just now with myself, dear Lord
I’ll help you some other day.