Big, hairy, audacious goals (BHAGs) don’t tend to frighten me. The bigger and hairier the goal, the better. I like challenges. I’m maybe a little competitive and more than a little stubb—determined. Yes, determined. Strategic. I like to come up with a plan to accomplish the goal.
They’re good things, BHAGs. However, they teach me little about submission and trust. BHAGs are done in my own strength. Occasionally, they bring me to the end of myself, and I find myself crying out for help.
I start praying big, hairy, audacious prayers (BHAPs), which are infinitely more important than big, hairy, audacious goals. The prayers return me to childlike faith and trust. I come to my daddy and ask him about all the things on my heart, things big and things small.
BHAPs, unlike BHAGS, are terrifying. I am learning to pray them again. I give voice to the hard-to-ask-for, hard-to-hope-for prayers. They’re the ones that leave a person vulnerable and broken. They’re often ignored because they hurt too much. They’re wept into pillows. They’re the prayers that come to the surface at the most inopportune times—walking around Target, coming to church.
These prayers, though, are the prayers to pray. They’re real prayers. Genuine. They’re the sorts of prayers God wants to hear because I’m his daughter. He doesn’t need or want me to be perfect. He wants me to come, just as I am, a complete wreck who’s afraid to admit the things on my heart, the things he already knows but still wants me to share.
So I begin to pray. I pray the big, hairy, audacious prayers. I ask God for the things I think are stupid, the things I try to shove away and pretend I don’t care about, the things I need for this day. I share my life and heart because my God is good, he is in control, and he cares for me.
Image: Emily Carlin (Creative Commons)