I recall when I was eleven years of age my parents took us on vacation through New Jersey where they had once lived. They fancied a visit with old friends and since we were at their mercy, we had no choice but go along. The house of their friend’s sat in a somewhat rural area and it afforded them space for their teenage son to explore on his motor bike. As much as I wasn’t a fan of motorcycles, I was even less a fan of freckly faced teenagers whose sole purpose in life was to scare the stuffing out of eleven year olds with dare devil stunts.

My brother and sister were the first riders on our new friend’s motor bike, I was last. I remember my siblings telling me after their rides that it was a blast; they lied. Typically a sinister laugh and beady eyes is more a trait of a bad movie villain than an adolescent character flaw. I should have anticipated the next sequence of events because this kid was equal parts Mario Andretti and Evil Knievel. We took off like we were extras in the movie Smokey and the Bandit.

With my arms wrapped around his midsection like Velcro and my heading bouncing around like a bobble head doll, we jettisoned across the rough terrain. I don’t recall whether I screamed like a little girl or if I sounded more like an Ewok in distress; a lot of high pitched grunts. But across hills and dirt mounds, jumps and near wheelies, I quickly learned the concept of prayer. On the rear of that motor bike, I found God and promised Him everything my future held if He would just return me back safely. With the ride over and my adrenalin reverting back to safe levels, I disembarked with legs that felt like Jello. I dropped to my knees, channeled the Pope, and kissed the ground. I had prayed my way out of an insane obstacle course adventure.

Not unlike my own concept of what constituted the best way to pray, three preachers one day stood in the front yard of the church. They began discussing the best positions for prayer. Unnoticed, was a telephone repairman working nearby.
As the conversation became more animated the first one exclaimed, “Kneeling is definitely best.”
“No,” another contended. “I get the best results standing with my hands outstretched to Heaven.”
“You’re both wrong,” the third insisted. “The most effective prayer position is lying prostrate, face down on the floor.”
The repairman couldn’t contain himself any longer. Butting in he blurted out, “Hey, fellas,” I don’t mean to interrupt you, “but the best prayin’ I ever did was hangin’ upside down from a telephone pole.”

Isn’t it rather obvious that no matter if you’re alone or just “hanging around”, the best means to make a proper connection with God is following the advice of Nike Shoe’s advertising campaign; “Just Do It”!