Of course I
want her to get it. It would cost her dearly to move away from where she is. I
tell the Lord this, to the extent that I’m sure he’s a bit fed up with being
informed about the situation. Surely none of the other three candidates can
need that position as much as my friend does? They will just be making a career
choice, rather than avoiding a broken heart and a worn-out resolve. But, so far
as prayer goes, this is uncomfortably a zero-sum game: if Professor Fireface
gets appointed, three others won’t be. It’s that even more directly than the
‘Dear God, please find me a parking space’ situation (there might be more than
one, and cars move in and out of a car park all the time), or praying for
someone who needs a kidney transplant, which my friend the Heresiarch used to
argue was immoral – essentially seeking the death of someone else, even if you
don’t know who they are and aren’t positively willing the circumstances which
would lead to an organ coming available. Here, there is only one job, and only
one way of getting my friend into it.
And what would I like the Lord to do, exactly? Make sure that she keeps her head and has done
the right prep (she’s been advised to talk about ‘neo-Lamarckian genomics’ when
an opportunity comes up)? Clear the traffic so she’s on time? Less charitably,
obstruct the efforts of the other candidates in some way? Surely not that.
I can’t
remember where I read that most prayer was just a matter of saying, ‘Lord,
please clean up the mess’. In the end, as I always advise people, I’m just
telling him what I feel strongly about in the knowledge that he knows what’s
going on better than I do, and will act, and has already acted long in the
past, for the final good of his creation. That reads a bit limp, if I’m honest,
but it’s the best I can do.