The Prayer Bear

It is a simple concept. A community of believers pray over a little teddy bear, and then they send it out into the world to care for another in their place. When they can't be there, this bear can. It's a little twist on the prayer shawl ministry that has caught on in just about every church.

When I first saw them last week, I thought they were a wonderful idea. Prayer shawls have their place, and I don't want anyone to think I'm downplaying the important outreach they provide; but I instantly saw the need for the bear. I could see, with my mind's eye, the look of a child's face in becoming a recipient of that bear. I could see the comfort it could bring in troubling times: hospitalization, divorce, environmental disaster, etc... In an instant, I could see the childlike joy this box of bears was about to bring to people who did not even know they needed a prayer bear yet.

Then I was asked if I wanted one. At first I declined. I only paused to read the card that accompanied this little bundle of joy. I wanted to say things in my life weren't bad enough to require one. I wanted to say that someone else would need it more than me. After a short pause, though, I ended up picking one out that seemed to look right through me.

As an adult, I know it's kind of silly to think that an inanimate object can take on human qualities. The hurting child inside of me, on the contrary, tenderly held that bear like it was the last possession I had left in this world.

My bear accompanies me wherever I go now. He's always in my bag when I go to work, travel around the city, or even when I shop for groceries. He doesn't have a name yet, but I do refer to him as Prayer Bear. What makes him so special to me is that he has a face. It's helpful to physically see a face to represent all the ones I'll never see as I know people pray for me. It's helpful to think there's a personification of God in something when I need to talk with God face-to-face but find it difficult to speak to the wind and hope that I was just heard.