I remember as a little girl clamping my eyes shut, fingers entwined and pressing until my fingernails stung deep into my hands. I asked for God to return things. I begged God to fix things. I used to believe that when I lost something or life was hard God heard my prayers and would answer them in my favor if I just prayed enough.
When I was very young I asked for simple things, like for mom to get chocolate milk at the store or for the mailman to place a letter from my grandma addressed to me in our mailbox. Over time I got braver and asked for bigger things. Like when our dog ran away on that busy stretch of road in front of our house I begged for safety. And when someone at school hurt me I’d ask God to make me brave, and make her stop.If I’m honest, when things didn’t go the way I had prayed, I questioned a Father who would not answer a child like me. A girl who was talking to him every day, asking for good things.
And if you had seen me you would have thought that in fact I did want earnestly for all the right things. I’d probably have grabbed your hand real gentle and prayed quietly because that’s how I pray~ on the inside.
The truth is I prayed with rebellion in my spirit. A test of a Father that I wasn’t quite sure I believed to be who He said He was.
I didn’t believe that I was who He said I was: Beloved, loved, forgiven, chosen, sealed.
I had an unspoken agreement with God: answer me and I’ll keep praying. Make things right. See things my way.
(I’m sharing a few words over at Outside the City Gates today…meet me over there?)
