Pick and Choose

Over the last few weeks, we’ve been studying how the supernatural intersects our everyday lives via prayer. I have to admit that even typing the word ‘supernatural’ feels a little funny to me.

I don’t know why. I say I believe in God and the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ–to do so I’d have to believe in this idea of supernatural events–yet I’ve noticed that the way I pray and interpret Scripture indicates exactly what I believe.

I pick and choose.

On the one hand, I say I believe that God is the ultimate healer and can perform miracles, but I’m afraid to pray that way. Even when I do pray for God’s miraculous touch, it’s as if I’m praying with one eye open, bracing myself for the reality that that person for whom I’m praying probably won’t be healed.

There were times when I really believed, or, at least, really wanted to believe. My friend was very sick, and I woke up one morning feeling in my heart that I was supposed to pray for his healing. I did; I prayed earnestly and fervently, yet he was not healed.

A couple of weeks ago, our church set aside a special time to pray for healing in view of this series on the supernatural, and I went forward and asked for prayer for my uncle. Again, I felt a strong prompt that I was supposed to pray for his healing. My uncle is a quadriplegic due to what doctors think was a blot clot that formed after back surgery, and within the last few years his health has been on a steady decline.

A couple of days after praying, my mom told me that now my uncle is struggling to breathe.

In situations like those, I begin to doubt myself. Did God really prompt me to pray, or did I just want to see a miracle myself? Did I not pray with enough faith? Does God really heal?

I know that God really heals, but I’m afraid to ask. I temper my prayers with if it’s your will so that if someone is not healed or my prayer is not answered the way I’d like, I can say that it wasn’t God’s will.

Of course, I know I’ve stated the key–God’s will–not mine, yet I can readily admit my fear to really believe beyond ordinary.

Sometimes it’s easier to believe in the power of doctors and medicine than the power of the Doctor. And yet other times, times when I need the healing, I want to grab onto the power of God instead of the resources He’s given me.

Our pastor shared a familiar passage to me, but he opened my eyes to a fuller meaning:

¹³Is anyone among you in trouble? Let them pray. Is anyone happy? Let them sing songs of praise. ¹⁴ Is anyone among you sick? Let them call the elders of the church to pray over them and anoint them with oil in the name of the Lord. ¹⁵ And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well; the Lord will raise them up. If they have sinned, they will be forgiven. ¹⁶ Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective. (James 5:13-16, New International Version)

I have read and heard this passage many times in regard to praying for those who are sick. I’ve seen pastors anoint individuals with oil, and I always assumed the function was symbolic. However, our pastor shared that the actual Greek text suggests that this anointing served a specific purpose. Olive oil was known for its medicinal properties, and this passage instructs sick individuals to essentially seek prayer and medicine.

After my third child was born, my mental health was on a steady decline for two years. I chalked up my emotions to a confused, hormonal body after having three kids in three years and nursing each of them. However, my daughter rounded 18 months, and I wasn’t feeling better.

I thought, perhaps, that my spiritual life was out of whack. I started waking up at five every morning so that I could pray and read the Bible and process through my feelings on my blog. However, any relief I felt was temporary, and I didn’t understand why. Eventually, I didn’t want to get out of bed in the morning, and I cried and yelled at my children almost every day.

During my annual physical, my doctor suggested I try medication. Two years was too long for me to deal with depression. I cried as we talked about the prospect, feeling that I was mentally weak or spiritually deficient. My wise, Christian doctor offered the most comforting words:

Scripture says that it will renew the mind. Your mind is an extension of the soul, but your brain is part of the physical body. There is no indication in Scripture that by reading the Word your body will be healed. Now, God can heal you, but He would have to heal you the same way He would have to heal someone of high blood pressure. Right now, the chemical levels in your brain are out of whack, and medication will just retrain them to produce those chemicals that you need.

Looking back to the passage in James, I see that my doctor’s words were essentially the same advice I read a couple of weeks ago in church. Pray and seek medicine. God may heal me; He is mighty and able to perform miracles, but he may want to heal me through the use of the resources I have available.

The bottom line, whether I’m dealing with depression or my uncle is struggling to hold onto his life, is that I’m supposed to pray the same way. I’m supposed to pray, not with one eye open, doubting what my God can do, but believing that at this very moment my uncle could get up and walk. At this very moment, I could wake up without the need for medicine again.

While I will never understand the will of God this side of heaven, I understand my role. The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective. And while I’m not righteous on my own, I have Christ pleading on my behalf. God hears my prayers, and they are effective, whether God answers them with a blazing flash of lightning or a tiny pink pill.

Do you pick and choose when it comes to your understanding of prayer? Linking up today with Michelle and Jen.

Sad News

I spent the last two days at my parents’ house since Matt was out of town, and I had planned to write a silly post about my brief consideration of moving in with them. However, that post no longer seems appropriate, and, truthfully, I am at a loss for words.

Last year, I shared my best friend Wendy’s story as her husband battled esophageal cancer. Unfortunately, his battle ended this morning.

To say that Wendy is an amazing woman is an understatement. In fact, I consider her a mystery of God. Not only can her mind calculate strange math problems and understand the concepts of AP Physics, enough so to teach a group of high school students, she can write the most beautiful prose one’s eyes have ever seen. But more amazing than her display of giftedness is her inspiring faith. I encourage you today to read the journal Wendy and Emmett together chronicled so beautifully of their fight with cancer.

I know many of you who read this blog pray and believe in a God who answers prayers. I ask you today to pray with all your heart for Wendy and her son Quinn. And for those of you who may read my blog and are unresolved in your faith, I challenge you to read Wendy and Emmett’s testimony. I truly believe their faith will inspire you. And I believe, whether or not you know what you believe, God hears the prayers of all His children. Wendy and Quinn could use them today.

Would you please pray with me?

Dear God, may Wendy and Quinn feel your arms of love surround them as they grieve. Give Wendy the strength she will need in the days, months, years ahead, and guide Quinn as he grows. May they never forget the love and happiness they shared with Emmett, and may they all be united together one day in your presence. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Feel free to add your own prayers for Wendy and Quinn in the comments if you are willing to pray publicly. Publicly or privately, I appreciate all your prayers for my friend.

The Conversation

I woke up the other day with a heavy heart. My husband had left for a week-long business trip, and I already missed him. I was tired from many days of going without rest, and many nights of turning out the lights a little too late.

I began to pray because I knew that I would need the kindness of God to help me this day; I would need his patience and compassion as I dealt with my kids on a day when I had none of my own. If the past were any indication of what this week would look like, the kids would test the limits, and I would go to bed feeling regret for losing my temper, especially since I felt so tired already. I prayed for wisdom and strength in my parenting and for them, and then I moved on to pray for Matt.

As I started to pray for my husband to have a safe trip, I also prayed for forgiveness. I had said something the night before that I shouldn’t have said, or at least should have waited to say until we had the time to converse. Immediately upon praying, I felt God say to call him right then. I paused but continued praying asking for Matt to do well on his trip, but again, I felt God say to my spirit, “Stop praying, and call your husband.”

I felt weird abandoning my prayer, walking away from the God of the universe, but I grabbed my cell phone and called Matt. Matt answered, and I could hear in the background that his flight was boarding–I caught him just in time. After I apologized, Matt admitted that my words had really upset him, and hearing him say so pierced my heart. True to his nature, Matt offered kindness and forgiveness as I cried over the phone.

I thought to myself, “What if I hadn’t called right then?” Matt would’ve left for this trip with a heavy heart, an unnecessary burden as he tried to do his job to the best of his ability. And I immediately thanked God for interrupting my prayer.

This past Sunday during my small group I had shared that prayer was my weakness. I pray many times during the day, but I don’t always feel that it comes naturally to me. I tend to recite a list–a list of thanks, concerns, contritions, and then ‘amen.’ I wanted to learn how to take part in a conversation instead of a list; I wanted to learn how to listen.

And true to the nature of God, always bestowing more kindness on me than I deserve, He showed me that I do know how to listen. I am capable of having a conversation with Him. But more importantly, God showed me that when I get carried away with my list, He’s not afraid to interrupt.

For this ‘Focus on it Friday,’ I am thankful for a God who knows how to get my attention and who is more interested in relationship than formality. For what are you thankful? Leave a comment or a link to your own post below!

His Child

“Mom! Hannah Grace had a big fall! She’s needs to go to the hospital!” my ever-dramatic four-year-old informed me.

I was less than six feet away from my kids, doing the dishes while they ate their dinner. Matt was still not home from work. I wanted to get the kitchen as clean as possible before he got home so that we could relax and enjoy our Friday night. I somehow missed the fall, having bent down to put a plate in the dishwasher as Hannah Grace’s head hit the floor.

Of course, I heard her cry, immediately shot up, and ran to her and asked the question which prompted Caleb’s reply.

“Oh, Caleb, she doesn’t need to go to the hospital,” I said while checking her head for bumps. “Don’t try to scare her.”

Hannah Grace was still crying, so I asked her where it hurt.

“My heaaaddd!” she pathetically drew out the word.

I was hoping for a more specific answer. “I know your head. Point to where it hurts.”

I felt the upper portion of her head where she was rubbing and pulled her in for a hug. I rubbed her head until she stopped crying, which didn’t take too long.

After a few tries, I gave up figuring out how she fell. All I could gather from both kids was that she was standing on the chair, leaning on the table, and somehow ended on the back of her head on the floor.

She was fine now, though, so I didn’t worry anymore. We had the talk (again) as to why she shouldn’t stand in her chair, and the kids finished their dinner. Then they went on their way to clean up the playroom while I finished cleaning the kitchen.

Ten minutes later Matt called: “I’m stopping at the store now to pick up the brownies, and then I’ll be on the way home.”

Good. Matt had made most of the drive in from work, and I was almost finished with the kitchen. I could start getting the kids ready for bed while I waited. We were going to have our weekly Friday date night which normally included a snack, an attempt at a movie, and someone falling asleep on the couch.

As I started sweeping, Hannah Grace was tip-toeing her way into the kitchen, singing a little song to herself.

“Have you finished cleaning up?” I asked. “Hurry up, babe. Mommy’s almost finished in here.”

I looked up from the pile I was sweeping as she twirled around and headed back toward the playroom.

“OMIGOSH!” I yelled. “What did you and Caleb get into?!” For a millisecond I was baffled at the reddish-purple substance matting Hannah Grace’s hair to the back of her head. For a millisecond.

And then fear set in.

“Hannah Grace, come here.” She had fallen on the back of her head, and now almost all the hair in the middle of her head was red and sticky.

I didn’t want to panic, and I didn’t want to scare her, and I really didn’t want to search through her hair to her scalp to find the injury that had caused this much blood. I started to move the hair away and didn’t see anything protruding from her scalp. I breathed a small sigh. I continued to search for the source and thought I found it, but she had too much matted hair. I decided I needed to put her in the tub so I could wash away the blood and see better.

I began dialing Matt. Straight to voicemail. I had just spoken with him! I tried again–maybe he was ignoring me because he was in the checkout line. I called again. And again. And again.

Now I had to think about the other two kids. I didn’t want Caleb to be scared or to scare Hannah Grace with his questions, and Chloe would just try to climb in the tub. I had to trust Caleb until Matt got home, which should be soon.

“Caleb, I need you to stay in the playroom with Chloe. Please watch her. I need to wash Hannah Grace’s hair.”

I can’t remember the questions he asked, but I know I emphasized how I really needed him to be a big helper then.

As I was moving Hannah Grace upstairs, Matt called.

“If I call four times in a row, it’s probably important!”

“I didn’t hear my phone. Well..what’s wrong?!” I had worried Matt with my ‘greeting’ and needed to fill him in on the details, which I did. I told him I was taking Hannah Grace upstairs, so when he got home, he needed to check on Caleb and Chloe.

“I’ll be home in ten minutes.” He sounded as scared as I felt.

While I moved with a purpose, telling myself to act calm, Hannah Grace continued on in La-La Land–not because of her injury but because she is a regular inhabitant of the place. I sat her in the tub and began rinsing her hair. We both watched as the clear water became pink and swirled around her feet. I looked at the back of her head. Yes, there it was.

No bigger than a half an inch long in the middle of her head sat the cut, open. Her scalp around the cut had swelled into a tender knot. Caleb was right–we would be making a trip to urgent care. Now seeing her injury clearly, I relaxed a little. I couldn’t believe a cut that small produced so much blood!

As I called my parents and set up the arrangements for Caleb and Chloe, I watched in amazement as Hannah Grace played in the tub, apparently not in pain and oblivious to the chaos I had felt for the past ten minutes.

“Hannah Grace, we’re going to need to go to the doctor. You have a boo-boo on your head that we need to get fixed,” I told her matter-of-factly.

“To get a band-aid because we used up all the band-aids?” She remembered earlier that day I reprimanded her and her brother for sneaking and using the rest of our box of band-aids.

“Well, no, we don’t have any more band-aids, but we need a doctor to check your boo-boo.”

As I pulled her out of the tub, swaddling her in the blue hooded towel, Matt made his way into the bathroom. I showed him the cut and was surprised to see the hair around the wound was already turning red again, slowly, but confirming my decision to head to urgent care.

We proceeded to get each of the kids dressed in their pajamas and put Caleb and Chloe in bed. Hannah Grace came downstairs with us as we ate a quick dinner and waited for my parents, and once they arrived, we headed on to urgent care.

We knew the drill–almost a year-and-a-half ago we were in the same place for the same reason after Caleb fell on the playground and cut his cheek. The nurse would look at Hannah Grace’s head, then get the doctor who would tell the nurse to numb the spot, and then we would wait in the waiting room for the anesthetic to take effect before proceeding with the stitches.

We went through the routine and waited. Hannah Grace was happy reading books and playing with toys as she awaited the nurse to call her name. When she heard, “Hannah?” she looked up at the nurse by the door and began to make her way, not waiting for Matt or me. She was a big girl, and she was ready to get her stitches so she could get a sticker–no one ever told her she would get a sticker, but that was the appropriate prize, she had decided, for her injury.

We had to take Hannah’s shirt off while waiting for the doctor because the nurse said they would clean her injury again, and she didn’t want to get Hannah Grace all wet. That was the first protest we heard from Hannah Grace all night: “I don’t want them to see my boobies.”

While she lay down on her stomach on the table, her little body covered, arms and legs tucked in the sheet like a burrito, I brushed her cheek with the back of my hand. She was my daughter, my precious baby. How I wanted to protect her!

The nurse informed me, “She has a good bruise around the injury, so she may say it hurts when the doctor starts pulling on the stitches. If she says that, it’s because of the bruise.” The nurse was assuring me that the anesthetic had done its job.

I started to pray but then pushed aside the prayer. I felt selfish praying for Hannah Grace to not feel pain when I knew there were children with serious injuries and illnesses. I know in my head that God cares about me and my concerns, but sometimes I have trouble believing that in my heart. I have been so blessed–why would He listen to my prayers when there are real troubles in the world?

And in that moment I felt a peace. As I looked at my daughter, whom I loved with all my heart, God told me, “She’s my daughter, too. I don’t want her to hurt, either.”

Hannah Grace started to move, and I knew she just wanted her right arm free so that she could hug her pink bear-blankie to her face. I asked if the nurse could free her arm, which she did, and Hannah Grace fought her eyes to stay open, tiredness washing over her as her bear touched her face.

While the doctor made each stitch, Hannah Grace and I made faces at each other, sticking out our tongues from side to side. Matt had his hands on her little body, ensuring she didn’t move, but she had no plans to. She was a big girl.

“It took four stitches,” the doctor told us. That was one more stitch than her brother received a year-and-a-half before.

We dressed Hannah Grace, hugging her and telling her how proud we were. She didn’t cry, didn’t move; she was perfect. God had answered my prayer.

And He answered hers, too. She didn’t get a sticker, but she got a green popsicle. She sucked on that popsicle most of the whole way home until it was gone, and then she fell asleep.

It’s About Relationship

I took Caleb to the doctor today AGAIN. I’m not positive, but I believe I may have taken one child or the other or the other (or possibly two at the same time) to the doctor every week for four weeks. But who’s counting?

My poor boy has sported different shades of gray over the last six days, and his big, beautiful eyes haven’t carried their normal twinkle. He looked as if he hadn’t slept for days with dark shadows underneath his big saucers, and the rims of which were lined in a more bright pink.

Today his color shone brighter, but his eyes still were not right. In fact, his eyes actually looked a little bloodshot. So, given the fact that he had a 103.6 fever last night and eyes that didn’t look like they should, I decided to make another appointment. Of course, right after I made the appointment, Caleb ate three bowls of cereal and asked to run races around the house.

Well, I’m glad I kept the appointment. Apparently, Caleb does not have the flu as he was originally diagnosed on Friday. Instead, he has a flu-like virus that often ends in an ear infection, and as luck would have it, Caleb has both an ear infection AND pink eye! What kind of Satan-inspired virus starts by causing one to feel like he’s been run over by a truck and ends with pink eye?!! My poor baby!

I had asked the doctor if we were safe from this virus since none of us had caught anything yet. His answer was not reassuring–no, we could incubate the virus for six days, so we aren’t in the clear until the middle of next week. As I was sitting in the parking lot of the pediatrician’s office, a slight panic swept over me. How was I going to prevent the other four of us from getting pink eye or this horrible virus? I was barely able to stay on top of my normal chores much less attempt the hard-core, virus-killing, deep-cleaning required to kill all of these nasty germs. My other two kids were too little to battle anything like this bug, and if I got sick like Caleb, how would I handle my three kiddos? Thinking about it made me nauseas.

At that moment, I started to pray, “Dear God, please don’t let…,” and I stopped. I didn’t want to bother God with my request. There were more important, real problems in the world. And almost immediately after I stopped, I felt God prompting me, almost as if He were saying, “Finish the prayer.“

I’ve had this problem before–I don’t want to say my prayers because I’m afraid they’re selfish. While I’m asking God for patience to deal with my kids, another lady is asking God why she isn’t able to have kids. It doesn’t seem right, and, yet, God wants me to tell Him what’s on my mind.

When I talk to my mom, I tell her how I feel. I’ve told her this week how tired I feel and like I’m going a little crazy having been stuck at home since Thursday. Well, God is my heavenly Father, and He wants to know how I feel, too. The beauty of Christianity is that it’s not a religion with a distant god who will weigh our good works against our bad deeds when we die. Instead, because of the sacrifice of Jesus, we have a God who doesn’t see our bad deeds and wants to mold us to do good while we live. But we need to remain in a relationship for that to happen.

And that means I need to have a true relationship with God–I need to pray honestly. Of course I don’t want my kids to get sick! Last night, Caleb woke up hysterical, Chloe was up three times before 11:30, and Hannah Grace wandered into our room around 10:00 eating a pear. That was our night with only one confirmed sick kid! Matt and I are exhausted, and for no one else to get sick, we definitely need prayer!

There is definitely a balance that needs to be achieved. God is not a genie in a bottle here to grant my wishes, and to treat Him as such is irreverent. However, He wants to hear from me, and to withhold my honest prayers because I think they are insignificant is also irreverent. God doesn’t need me, but He wants me FOR me. I need the relationship, and any good relationship starts with communication.

So as I sat in the parking lot, I finished my prayer: “Dear God, please keep us from getting sick. I’m scared of us catching this virus or pink eye because I don’t know how I can keep the kids away from each other. Please protect them. Please protect Matt and me. I’m afraid of feeling as miserable as Caleb was and having to take care of the kids.”

As with any prayer, God may answer mine with ‘no.’ He may let nature run its course, and in two days I may be looking through the slits of my gunk-filled eyes. And if I am, I will ask God for the endurance to get through the day. I’ll never tire of hearing my children share their honest concerns and prayers, and neither will my Father tire of hearing me.