When my teenage daughter was 5, she threw down the gauntlet in my direction.

It had to do with our noise-vending neighbor who played music late into the night. It got so bad that I regularly found myself humming their two playlists (one country, the other hard rock) in the middle of work meetings. Their son even had a bumper sticker on his car that boldly proclaimed “The Party Starts Here.” And oh, did it! That young man’s arrival at his folks’ gate was always heralded by the boom-boom-boom of his car speakers. The standard response to my every plea for some peace and quiet was the polar opposite – increased decibel levels. I suppose their intention was to break my will, just like Pharaoh routinely did when the children of Israel beseeched him to lessen their load of labor.

Late one night after putting my daughter’s toys away and doing that one last bed tuck-in, I very lightly put my hand on her head and started to pray (like I always do).

“Daddy.” She whispered under her soft breathing.

I was startled. I thought she was fast asleep.

“Yes, Sweetheart,” I managed.

“You have always said God answers prayer, right?”

“Yes Sweetheart, God is happy to hear His children talk to Him, and even ask Him for help.”

“Ok Daddy. Can you ask Him to stop that music NOW so that I can sleep?”

“Sure!” I muttered. And proceeded to pray a 40 second prayer.

That one incident has stayed with me. Will never leave me. As soon as we said “Amen,” BoOM! There was a loud thud and the music stopped. And it didn’t come back on for the rest of the night.

So today, the weather forecast said it would rain all day. That would have been nice and dandy only that my just turning-10 year old daughter had a party with outdoor activity planned. I found her worryingly looking at the forecast with her big sister. I told them to look up, and shall we, perhaps, pray about it?

Does God answer prayer? He does. May be not the way we understand “Answer.” And He certainly does not have the “Yes.” “No.” “Later.” Or even “May be” categories. No, those are our metrics, not God’s. In our feeble quest to find method in the madness of our existence, we apply our finite wisdom in an attempt to understand (and explain) a God who is by all measure, way beyond comprehension.

Reminds me of the wisdom of an aging saint who was on death-row in a Roman prison:

Do not fret or worry. Instead of worrying, pray. Let petitions and praises shape your worries into prayers, letting God know your concerns. Before you know it, a sense of God’s wholeness, everything coming together for good, will come and settle you down. It’s wonderful what happens when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life.

PS. I just tucked the little 10 year old princess into her bed. After we gave thanks, I casually asked: Had a good day, Sweetheart? Her answer? That was my best party ever!

PPS. The rain stopped at exactly 2pm: our invite time. Just as the sun cleared through the clouds a few minutes later, our first little guest walked in through the door. If that is not God.