How long have you prayed for something?

Think about your hometown for a minute.

What was it like when you were growing up?

Where did everybody hang out on Friday or Saturday night?

What were your school colors?

What was the mascot?

Where could you get the best cheeseburger in town?

Better yet, what restaurant isn't there anymore?

You know the one. The place that closed years ago, but you can still taste the food.

Maybe you've lived in Decatur your entire life. If you have, you've watched this town change.

There are places you remember that aren’t here anymore.

Roads change. Businesses close. School names change. Neighborhoods look different.

That’s because hometowns change.

But there's still something about the place that helped make you who you are.

Even when you move away, part of it stays with you.

And sometimes the version of your hometown you remember only exists in your memories.

One of the places I consider home is Crete, Illinois, a south suburb of Chicago.

Last week, I got to go back.

My home church is moving into a new building, and my former youth pastor asked if I would come up and help run some data lines. That's something I used to do for work, so I knew what I was getting myself into. Or at least I thought I did.

At one point I found myself crawling underneath the building, and this wasn't a nice, clean crawl space. It was disgusting. Dark. Muddy. Mildewy. Wet. I'm crawling through this murky sludge, underneath a building, dragging cable with me, and it felt like the crawl space went on for the length of a football field. And while I'm down there, I'm thinking:

Why am I doing this?

Because if almost anybody else had called me and said, “Hey, would you crawl through a dark, muddy, disgusting crawl space for me?”, my answer probably would have been NOPE! But this was different. This was a friend. This was somebody who had been my youth pastor who I now consider a brother.

This was my home church. This was part of my hometown. And when it's “home”, you do things you wouldn't normally do. Because home has a strange way of holding onto a piece of your heart.

You care about it. 

You're emotional about it. 

You remember what happened there.

You remember the people.

You remember who you were there.

And when something happens to your home, it hits differently.

I am reminded of the book of  Nehemiah.

Nehemiah had moved away from his hometown of Jerusalem. He was hundreds of miles away, living in the Persian city of Susa and serving as cupbearer to King Artaxerxes. Then some people arrived from his hometown, and Nehemiah immediately wanted to know: How's home?  The answer wasn't good.

“Those who survived the exile and are back in the province are in great trouble and disgrace. The wall of Jerusalem is broken down, and its gates have been burned with fire.”

— Nehemiah 1:3 (NIV)

His people in his hometown are hurting.

The walls have been destroyed.

The gates have been burned.

The city that represented so much of his people's history, identity, worship, and relationship with God, and it was sitting vulnerable and broken.

Because it was home, Nehemiah couldn't just shrug his shoulders and say, “Well, I don't live there anymore.”

What happened next?

“When I heard these things, I sat down and wept. For some days I mourned and fasted and prayed before the God of heaven.”

— Nehemiah 1:4 (NIV)

Before he did anything else…He prayed!

About four months pass between the beginning of Nehemiah 1 (when he learns about the state of Jerusalem) and his conversation with King Artaxerxes in Nehemiah 2. Approximately 120 days of seeking God.

Nehemiah knew he couldn’t fix anything on his own, because he didn't have the money. So one day he approaches the king. The king could tell he was upset and asked him why he looked down. Nehemiah told him what was going on, and what happened next is crazy!

The king gave Nehemiah permission to go.

He gave him letters providing safe passage through the territories.

He provided timber for the project from the king's forest.

He sent his army’s officers and cavalry to help them work and to protect them.

Nehemiah eventually arrives in Jerusalem, organizes the people, and they rebuild the wall in only 52 days!

120 days of prayer and fasting.52 days building the wall.

Nehemiah spent almost three times as much time in prayer as it took to complete the project.

That challenges me.

Do I spend more time praying or complaining?

More time praying or worrying?

More time praying or trying to fix everything myself?

Before Nehemiah had the materials, he prayed.

Before he had a plan, he prayed.

Before he had permission, he prayed.

Before he had protection, he prayed.

Before he had a team, he prayed.

Before he ever went to Jerusalem, he prayed.

And then, when the opportunity came, Nehemiah was ready to obey.

Maybe that's something we need to rediscover.

Prayer isn't what we do after we've exhausted every other option.

Prayer is where we start.

Before we plan.

Before we build.

Before we worry.

Before we complain.

Before we try to figure everything out for ourselves.

We should pray.

Because sometimes God is already working on details we haven't even gotten to yet.

Before Nehemiah built, Before he did anything, Nehemiah prayed.

What would happen if we did the same?