when my hand in my Father’s was small….

i would sing to Him and talk with Him and read His words with a skip in my step.  I didn’t make lists of prayers, half the time i didn’t even think about praying.  i’d say grace at dinner and good morning and goodnight.  we were just getting to know each other, Him and i, and life was somewhat predictable and small, yet big all at the same time.  my firstborn and i would sing together and pray together.  i’d ask Him for help on the hard days-and there were hard days, and every time i’d ask for help-He’d help me.


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when my hand in my Father’s began to grow, and my wonder was as a child….

i’d wait with eager anticipation for the e-mail to arrive in my inbox each week with prayer requests from Voice of the Martyrs.   I’d print it off and add it to my stack of newsletters from various missionaries i’d come to know.  I’d gather these up along with my 12 cent spiral notebook containing notes about those i love along with a characteristic of my Lord that i was focusing on at the time.  And I’d meet with my Father and we’d talk about it all.  Those times with my Father were so sweet.  There were still plenty of hard days to seek His help with.  and every time i’d ask for help, He’d help me.


but i’m a teenager now i think-at least as it relates to this thing called prayer.

i still receive the e-mails and newsletters and i’ve discovered a new source for adoration.  but there is not a spring in my step anymore, and meeting with the Lord feels more like trudging through muck each step picking up even more heavy mud.  i don’t gather anything up anymore and that 12 cent notebook hasn’t been written in for years.

i’ve seen some things since those early days.  mission organizations that aren’t doing what they claimed to do.  earnest prayers for the persecuted-yet persecution seems to be increasing.  loved ones falling deeper and deeper away and hope for anything else wanes.  battles with health that seem to get worse and not better.

in teenager-esque fashion , now i come-trudging those heavy feet along-and sit with more questions than answers.

what is prayer anyway?

doesn’t the Sovereign, all Knowing One, know what is happening without me telling Him?

isn’t the Great Shephard’s work in another’s life all Grace-and independent of anything i do?

who am i to tell the One who names the stars how to run the universe? (see also job 38-42)

in the world that is beyond my sight, where satan battles for the hearts of Your beloved’s, what is really going on when i pray?

and what do i pray for anyway?  i don’t ever really know what the best outcome of a situation would be.  i see knowing You as far more valuable than relief-but i’ve no clue what that looks like for another’s whose heart only You know.

questions and questions and questions.  Sometimes my All Sufficient One will answer my questions over a period of time, other times He moves me to trust Him without any answers.  yet, one thing remains constant.


every time i ask for help…He helps me.