Why Pray?

As I've experienced loneliness on and off over the last number of years, I've questioned more and more what is the purpose of praying? Growing up, I never questioned this, no doubt due to the fact that I had a more blessed upbringing, free of pain and hardship, than I could have ever imagined. When things went great, I thanked God for them and assumed he had granted my prayer requests. For those prayers he didn't grant, I praised him anyway, as prescribed by Scripture, thinking his denial would work out for my good. Now I'm not saying those ideas are wrong, but I've learned that a heavy dose of pain is a substantial force against a man's faith. In the last few years, in bitterness, frustration, and confusion, I've been unable to hold to that old attitude of mine and it's made me ponder the purpose of prayer all together. The Scripture, especially in the NT, goes on and on and on about the importance of praying constantly. It tells us to approach God humbly yet boldly and present our needs to him and to be persistent. I note on the latter point that I never cared for the idea of persistence and it was likely that point that was the catalyst in making me start questioning things. I mean, why should I have to be persistent? Doesn't that seem like a game? It seems more logical to me that a person comes before God and begs his help and God either says, "I am willing" or, "No, my grace is sufficient for you." But why the "game" of making us ask and ask and ask (be aware, I'm not trying to be demeaning or disrespectful to God; I'm just addressing philosophical ideas and asking questions about what I've experienced in life.) Aside from it seeming like a game, and almost patronising, I also don't care for the parable in Scripture that talks about being persistent. It's the only time, to my memory, God compares himself to a villain. He says, in this regard, that he's like an unrighteous judge. A widow goes to him begging for mercy and he has no interest in helping her, but since she bugs the crap of him, he finally helps her just to shut her up. Again, that just doesn't set well with me. That kind of comparison of how God responds to our desperate requests does not give me images of him being a refuge I can run to when I'm weak. To carry this even deeper, what happens when one does follow that prescription and is persistent for years and years and years and still doesn't see God's help? I've been praying for help with my loneliness for quite a long long time. And I'm not narrow-minded either. I pray for provision of an appropriate companion, or for the ability to go on alone, or for the faith to deal with the pain, or for some other option I haven't considered, yet the roller coaster of pain rolls right on as if I never spoke a word to God. I don't consider my request to be something out of selfish want either. Admittedly that's part of it, but it's also not like asking God for a hot new sports car. The need for companionship was built into us by him and there many other reasons why this is an important thing, even including needing the support of a helper to serve God better in a difficult life (I truly believe a married couple is worth more than the sum of the two individuals in serving God). I could certainly use some help with problems I've been unable to conquer. Yet still, every prayer I've prayed, through tears and grieving, has been denied as I've watched every one I know move on to companionship, leaving me feeling more alone than ever. But I digress...my point is NOT to complain about my love life but to question: why do we pray? I've spent, cummulatively, so many hours in prayer over this, it's unfathomable. And at least up to this point, it seems every one of them has proven to be a complete waste of time. Another major moment in my life that led to this is when my grandfather was dying in the hospital. I volunteered to stay up with him all night while my folks got some much-needed sleep. I won't get into the strange events of the evening, but in summary, my grandfather was afflicted by some unknown "suffering" that had him constantly looking down at his legs saying, "get away from me" and "leave me alone." I would go to the nurses' station for help and they would brush me off. I'd try to talk to my granddad and he'd say he was suffering and I didn't know what to do. I prayed and prayed and prayed in desperation, even taking trips down to the chapel every so often to kneel before God and beg for help, but it never came. For hours this went on, and I was completely alone. God was no where. And I finally, of course, lost it and broke down. I would say my relationship with God was never the same again after that night. I have never had as much trust in prayer since these events. Obviously, I want to be restored to the level of faith I used to have and I strive toward that, but I can't ignore the things I've seen either. Way too many times I've needed God badly and he has not come, so to this day, I have to struggle to force myself to pray. So why do I bother to force it if it's unproductive? The only answer I have is that I pray because Scripture tells me to. I hope that humble belief in Scripture, with no other evidence that prayer is worth anything, will be pleasing to God because at the moment, it's all I have to offer. I still petition but I long for my younger days when it made more sense to me to do so. It's hard to hold on to God's promises when they seem to abandon you. Perhaps the Teacher was right..."I consider the dead who have already died to be more fortunate than the living who are still alive. But better than both are those who have never been, who have never had to see the evil that occurs on the earth." In the mean time, I'll keep doing my best to pray as Scripture commands and trying to trust that there is a higher purpose for it. I look forward to the day this difficult life is past and we all have eternity to look forward to together. Unfortunately, to get to that point, there is a very difficult life ahead. And it looks like, for the moment, I'll have to keep facing that difficult life alone. Bummer.