No Legal Grounds by James Scott Bell Page A

followed three days of absolute torture waiting for the verdict. Sam walked the floor at all hours, watched mindless TV in the middle of the night. He got to know some good old movies that way.
    The day after the jury announced that Sam had won, he literally collapsed into bed and slept for eleven hours.
This morning he felt that anxiety all over again, only worse. Because with a trial there was always something he could do. More strategizing, more study of the law, more tactics.
But things were out of his control now. How could he stop a man who was clearly out to make his life miserable? How could he get through to a daughter who was intent on keeping him out of the most important parts of her life? How could he connect with a longsuffering wife who tended to take all the burdens of family life on her own shoulders?
Throw in a drunk-driving arrest of his daughter and you had the perfect last nail for the coffin.
Ever since Heather’s birth, Sam had pursued the ideal of the perfect father and husband. He took parenting seminars. He read books as if he were studying for the parental bar exam and would only get a license to practice if he got all the answers right. He gave over his heart and mind fully to his children’s good. When he’d become a Christian, he read the Bible and prayed often.
So why was God allowing this to happen? That wasn’t part of the deal. I go to church and raise my children according to your Word, Lord. You keep them from doing anything harmful. You mold them into successful citizens.
Right? Isn’t that it?
Then why was his daughter running into ruination? Why was evil intruding in his house?
Sam went to the kitchen, poured a glass of milk, then sat in the dark. For a brief moment, the thought of having a real drink crossed his mind. He’d never been an alcoholic, though he used to drink heavily. He’d managed to quit with Linda’s resolute encouragement, but that didn’t remove the occasional craving.
He thought about bourbon, gave himself a little slap on the cheek, and thought about prayer.
He wanted to pray. Of course. You’re a Christian, you pray. But his prayer life was a shambles. Other than meals and the group prayers at church, he didn’t do much of it. Now it was as if circumstances were forcing him into it.
He closed his eyes.
He tried to recall what Don Lyle, his pastor, taught on prayer. Don did a series sometime back. He’d said something then, a method. What was it? Something about praying and Scriptures.
That was it. Pray the Scriptures. You take up the Bible and read and turn the text into a prayer. It focuses the mind, Don said. Prayer grounded in the Word could not be denied.
Sam took his milk and went to the study, flicked on a table lamp, and sat at the desk. His Bible was there, the one Linda gave him. He remembered the joy of that day. The joy seemed a distant memory now.
He picked the Bible up, looked at it. He went to the concordance to look up the passage where Jesus taught about prayer. Ask, seek, knock. It was in the book of Matthew, chapter 7:
    Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened.
    Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!
    A tiny window in his soul opened up, through which he sent out a flare of hope. He had never really put these words to the test. He was skeptical of the type of Christian ity that taught you could ask up a Lexus if you had enough faith.
    And yet there had to be something here, because Jesus said it. Sam put his hand on the page and whispered, “Lord, I want to pray this Scripture. I want to ask you in faith for help. I feel like I’m being crushed.”
He