Maybe Prayer is Her Gift

{I fear that a growing percentage of my stories begin with “We were in the car…” as this one does.}

So, we were in the car. Abby was in the backseat being pretty quiet. No barking. I was soaking up the silence. And then I heard, “Mutter, mutter, mutter… in Jesus’ name.”

Me: “Abby? Were you just praying?”

Abby: “Yep.”

Me: “What about?”

Abby: “This boy.”

Me: “What boy?”

Abby: “The one in this book I’m reading.”

Me: “You’re praying for a boy in a book?”

Abby: “Yes. I’m praying for God to heal him because he doesn’t look like he’s having a very good time.”

So I’d like to apologize to author Grace MacCarone and illustrator Betsy Lewin on behalf of my child. She is faithfully awaiting the day when she opens Itchy, Itchy Chicken Pox and finds the main character no longer struggling to stop scratching. While I realize this will negatively affect both the plot and the illustrations, I agree with her empathy too much to ask her to stop praying.

Toddler Theology

The final moments we spend together each night are with eyes closed, hands folded, and voices rising. Praying before bed overwhelms me with gratitude and leaves her conversing with God long after I’ve left the room.

But rarely does a round of prayer happen without a teachable moment. Occasionally she learns something new, more often than not, the lessons are for my benefit.

Last night brimmed with words of thanks for the snow, the chocolate and the family time that filled our weekend. But then she said something unexpected:

“And thank you Lord for the dog you will give me when I’m older.”

She was very serious and very grateful. And I can’t shake her words from my mind.

She’s so trusting, so hopeful, so confident in God’s goodness. She doesn’t doubt that He’ll provide, instead she’s thanking Him now for blessings yet unseen.

How often do we thank God for what He’s going to do?

Praying

If you read this blog, then you probably already know where I go to church, who our pastor is, and what is happening in his life.

If you don’t know any of that, then here are the answers- the Village Church, Matt Chandler, and a small mass is being removed from his frontal lobe by a neurosurgeon at noon on December 4th.

Whether you knew it coming in, or are just learning of it now, please join me in praying for Matt and his family.

I am specifically praying for Matt, his wife, his parents, and his children to be wrapped in peace that surpasses all understanding.

Not numbness to the situation, not fearlessness, not denial, but the pure, unbridled peace that comes only from knowing God.

“Only God gives inward peace, and I depend on him. God alone is the mighty rock that keeps me safe, and he is the fortress where I feel secure.” Psalm 62:5-6

Toddler Theology

A quickly swelling bump on Abby prompted me to ask, “Do you want an ice pack to help it feel better?”

Her answer: “God is bigger than ice. He’ll make the booboo better. I don’t need the ice. I’ll just pray.”

Simple truths seem to hit harder when they’re spoken by a three year old.

Toddler Theology

Abby’s morning prayer went like this:

“Dear Lord, please let all the men let Jesus get down off the cross.”

Here’s what I think she was trying to say:

“How great can your relationship with Christ be, if every time you think of Him, you picture Him battered, bruised, and dying. Does that image make you want to worship Him? The miracle isn’t that He died. The miracle is that He lives. Take a moment and remember that He allowed Himself to be nailed to a cross for us. But don’t leave Him there. That isn’t the end of the story. Focus on the miracle of miracles- the resurrection. Please let Jesus get down off the cross.”

At least, that’s what I think she would have said if she hadn’t been distracted by a yellow crayon.

Inspiration

I have a confession to make.  You know those books that have a prayer written out at the end of each chapter? Those prayers that are meant to wrap up the meaning of the text and help you draw nearer to God? Well, I skip over them.

I don’t know what it is, but for some reason I have a hard time reading them and actually giving them any weight. Maybe it’s that the prayer is written by someone who doesn’t know I exist, much less anything about me. Maybe it’s that they’re usually pretty cheesy. Maybe it doesn’t feel right because I can’t read them and close my eyes at the same time. I don’t know why, I just know I don’t read them.

Except for this one. For some reason, my eyes refused to scan this one and my hand seemed incapable of turning the page until I read it. Every time I open the book, I unintentionally open to this prayer. Maybe the ink on the page is heavier than normal ink. Maybe the binding is broken. I don’t know the reason, I just know that I love it.

I haven’t stopped thinking about it since I first read it. And maybe the reason it seems different from others is that for me, it feels more like a mission statement for the taking than a prayer for the asking.

If you have any artistic aspiration, if you acknowledge the fact that you are indeed an artist regardless of your medium, maybe it’ll speak to you too. As for me, I plan on hanging it my future joy-inducing room. (I’ll explain the room soon.)

The prayer is from the end of chapter 10 in The God Who Smokes: Scandalous Meditations on Faith by Timothy J. Stoner:

“May your art be worship.

May your worship be art.

May you afflict the comfortable with jolts of inconsolable joy.

May you call forth the good, the beautiful, the eternal hope of your true city.

And when people step back from your painting, put down your novel, or leave the theater,

may they leave having been fatally stabbed,

inconsolably wrecked with a longing for home.

And may you reflect faithfully the face of your Father

who strides through the galaxies with brush in hand.”

Spring Cleaning

I remember hitting the “nesting” phase when I was pregnant with Abby. I cleaned, organized, and decorated like a mad woman.

The peak of crazy was when I opened the linen closet and began pulling all of the folded towels, sheets, and blankets onto the floor. Why? Because I felt they could be folded better! Matt could not believe how ridiculous I was acting. And there were no words to explain it, it was pure emotion.

I’m not nesting now (as I am definitely not about to have a baby), but I am experiencing a cleaning phase. It isn’t the typical vacuum and dust sort of thing though. More than that, I have this overwhelming urge to get rid of useless stuff. To throw away, donate, or sell. An eagerness to rid our home of everything but bare bones and then start again.

Some people could attribute it to the spring cleaning phenomenon, but I think it goes deeper than that.

So far, 2009 has been a year of reflection and change for me. I’ve spent time learning who I am and why, and more importantly, making changes so that I can become who I want to be.

My biggest desire is for an overwhelming sense of peace. I want to know that feeling, that comfort, of being completely at peace with myself and my life.

And the word that keeps coming back to me is simplify. Not only with physical stuff, but with relationships and the lifestyle I’m living. To simplify my plans and my worries, to simplify my wants and my prayers.

All of this to explain that the following Chuck Swindoll quote hit me hard when I read it this morning:

“To reorder one’s own world, the need to simplify is imperative. Otherwise, we will find ourselves unable to be at rest within, unable to enter the deep, silent recesses of our hearts, where God’s best messages are communicated. And if we live very long in that condition, our hearts grow cold toward Christ and we become objects of seduction in a wayward world.”

Man, I love when God’s answer is direct.

undecided

I couldn’t pick between these two today, so just choose the one you like and pretend it’s the only one I posted!