Teen 2 Teen

Here I Am Again

by Amanda Beattie

I sat on the sofa, my head back, my eyes closed. The soft sounds of worship music were wafting gently through the air, and I was relishing every moment of it. It was a typical night at our friends' house -- we often got together to have our own small prayer service. I loved those times. More often than not, I was the only one in the room under 18 -- the other kids were hanging out upstairs -- but I didn't care. I was having too much fun with God.

by Amanda Beattie

I sat on the sofa, my head back, my eyes closed. The soft sounds of worship music were wafting gently through the air, and I was relishing every moment of it. It was a typical night at our friends' house -- we often got together to have our own small prayer service. I loved those times. More often than not, I was the only one in the room under 18 -- the other kids were hanging out upstairs -- but I didn't care. I was having too much fun with God.

Initial Distraction

Nearly every week, however, someone was asking me to come upstairs. I don't think they understood what drew me to prayer. For a long time, I always answered, "No, thanks." I couldn't understand why they didn't want to join us in praising the Lord. Yet finally, one week, I got tired of saying no. One of my friends was begging, "Please? You never hang out with me." I couldn't take it, and agreed to go upstairs. Still, I thought to myself, "Just this once."

The next week found me back with the grown-ups, choosing to pray rather than play. Another month went by, with more pleading -- and more of me saying "no".

At last, I gave in yet again. "All right, yes." I couldn't take the pestering anymore. Similar to before, I assured myself, "This is the last time."

Unfortunately, it wasn't.

See You Later, Lord!

For a few weeks after, I went upstairs grudgingly. I told myself I was doing it to keep from offending my friends. But in a frighteningly short period of time, I found myself not minding the trip upstairs. In fact, I actually wanted to go.  It was as if I no longer had the patience for prayer and worship -- I kept getting distracted by the fun my friends were having. Eventually I began going upstairs before the prayer service even started.

It had happened so subtly that I hadn't noticed the change. On occasion, I would hesitate, feeling momentarily sorry for skipping prayer yet again, but I pushed those thoughts aside. I was far away from God, and it would take a miracle to bring me back.

He's Calling Me Home

Fortunately, miracles are God's specialty, and He was about to bring one to my life. It began with a dream.

In the dream, I was floating on an inner tube in a lake. The waves were gently rolling, and an ethereal music was playing in the background. One wave lapped up, looking gentle, but it struck my tube with surprising force. I found myself rocketed out of the water, my stomach sinking horribly as I flew higher and higher, showing no signs of ever coming back down to earth. I woke up with a start, that sinking feeling still haunting me.

The next day, I told the dream to my mother while we were driving down the road. As if on cue, a song started playing on the radio -- a song with light, ethereal music.

"Mom," I cried, astonished. "That's the music! That's the music I heard in the dream!" This was the first time I heard it on the radio.

We listened to the words of the song, "Flower in the Rain" by Jaci Velasquez, wondering if God was trying to speak to us through it.

"I'm led astray far too easily
It's always hard for me to say I'm wrong
Until I know I can't go on
So here I am again
Willing to be opened up and broken
Like a flower in the rain"

"Amanda," my mom said gently. "It sounds to me like God misses you."

The words struck me like a brick. God missed me? I loved Him, and the thought of Him grieving for me tore my heart out.  I thought about it for days, and realized what had happened to me. I used to go before Jesus every week, soaking in the rain of His presence and letting Him break my heart to be softer towards Him.  Now, however, I had let a seemingly harmless entreaty of "Come hang out with me" launch me out of my relationship with God. I had allowed that simple request to send me flying further and further away.

"Lord," I cried, tears spilling over my face. "I'm sorry! Bring me back to you! I miss you, too…"

The following week found me downstairs, on that same sofa, carried away in worship to my King. How had I forgotten that incredible feeling? How had I forgotten that one night in the presence of God is worth a thousand nights with friends. I was thrilled to be back. And I think God was as delighted as I was.