If I had to point to one thing that has consistently
weakened my prayer life in the last five years, it would be the sleep
prayer. You moms of littles know what I’m
talking about: Dear God, I haven’t slept
more than an hour in four days, seven hours, and twenty-three minutes. My husband sleeps peacefully through every
single cry, and reminds me that I’m the one who wanted these kids anyway if I
wake him up. I have to work/take care of
other littles/both in the morning, and I’m quite certain death is right around
the corner if my head doesn’t find a pillow stat. Please, please, please, give me some grace
and let this kid sleep.
How many times did I pray that in the months of colic when
my dad had just died and the tidal wave of change that came with parenting had
knocked me clean off my feet. Or when I
was pregnant with Caleb and couldn’t miss a day of work because I needed those
days for maternity leave, but of course Eli had fevers/cut teeth/inexplicably
wanted his mama. Violet isn’t exactly a
great sleeper either, and I’m wondering if perhaps the sleeping through the
night thing is just a sham perpetuated by people who aren’t parents. Anyway, in all the nights that I’ve
prayed/begged/cried to God for help, I can’t remember a single time when God
has actually given me sleep. Not a
single one. Sure, it came eventually…nights
down the road. But eventually I just
quit asking, because when I ask and don’t receive, I find myself questioning
the God I claim to believe in. It is just
easier to believe and not ask. As I
rocked a feverish Violet last night, I found myself whispering, “I frankly don’t
know why I’m asking you to heal her, because it seems like my prayers bounce
right off the ceiling. But you know,
maybe if you’re in the mood you can knock this fever down because I need to be
back at work on Wednesday. And because I
hate seeing her so miserable on her birthday.”
Inspiring stuff, that prayer. I
know.
This whole question of what to do when God doesn’t visibly
show up looms large in my life right now.
Why do some people have these amazing stories of faith where they pray
and (Boom!) God shows up? And why do my
own prayers have such a checkered history?
Certainly I can point to times in my life where God intervened and
circumstances changed in ways I couldn’t imagine. But I can also point to times when nothing
happened for years…if ever. Sometimes
the reason for His silence becomes clear, but often it doesn’t. So am I asking for things outside of God’s
will? How can I tell if I’m
misinterpreting God’s leading? And how
can I step out in faith if there’s only a fifty/fifty chance of God coming
through?
I don’t know.
I am in my fourth week back to work. I finally got my first paycheck and I can’t
deny the relief of bringing in enough to live on. But Violet has been sick for three weeks now,
and currently she’s playing around with a fever of 103. I already used the half a sick day I had left
over from last year, and it is clear I can’t take her to daycare tomorrow. If God wants me back at work, why didn’t he
provide a care situation where my kids wouldn’t be sick 360 days a year? I did ask for that. If He doesn’t want me back at work, why didn’t
He give my husband the promotion he earned months ago? Or provide an opportunity for me to make a
living from home? Was that call, that
pull towards the work of writing just my imagination? Why couldn’t I find any open doors? Why should I keep asking? Knocking?
Seeking? Hearing silence is demoralizing,
and I can’t decide if I should blame myself or God.
But I’ve decided to keep asking: for financial provision so
that I can focus more on raising this tiny tribe of children God has given me. For a way to make a living from my words. For a healing in my marriage that I’m fairly
certain is impossible. Why? Because my Savior told me to keep
asking. Because He has given me promises
and asked me to trust them. Because my
faith is more than seeking answers to prayer; it is obeying my Father who
professes over and over again that He loves me.
Because mustering the courage to keep asking is the muscle behind my
faith, and it needs a work out. (So do my abs, but that's a different post.)
I have to tell my kids “no” sometimes all the freakin’
time. It doesn’t mean that I don’t love
them…it just means that I see a bigger picture and I want to give them the best
gift I can give them. I know that if they have a third cupcake, the wave of sugar in their systems will carry them straight to the type of behavior that puts little boys in time-outs for the next three days. All they know is that there's still a purple cupcake left over from Violet's party. I flat out beg
them to trust me. To believe that I am
good. They struggle...because they can see the cupcake and not the future. Today, in these frustrating moments,
God invites me to trust him. To believe that He is good. I
need to respond by adoring Him: by affirming the truth
of who He is…even though I can’t see it. I suspect it is no accident that daycare is right smack next to the a building marked "adoration" and used by parish members for that very purpose. It is my daily reminder to press into the goodness of God.
God, thank you for
making plans – good plans – for me.
Thank you for being a God who cares about my future and who wants me to
have hope. Thank you for hearing me when
I call. Please help me to see you,
because I am seeking you with my whole heart.
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