Praying

By Heather Allen –

It is late. A yawn slips past my lips. As I reach for a grocery cart, another mom pushes hers beside me. I smile at her gaggle of children. One of her toddlers stands at her side whimpering. She attempts to carry him with one arm and push her cart with the other. We trail each other from aisle to aisle. As we leave the cereal aisle and head towards paper products, my admiration grows. She herds her sleepy, slightly cranky crew with gentle correction. Her face is etched with exhaustion. Our carts pause simultaneously in front of the toilet paper. We smile at each other and attempt small talk. She tells me she just finished work and the cupboards were bare, so her long day is a bit longer. I silently wonder if she holds it all together by herself.

One of her toddlers reaches for me. I hold his chubby hands in mine. He slips them up around my neck, pulling me close. The yogurt on his face sticks to my cheek as he presses his face close. It does not matter, he needs a hug. Maybe I do too. The mom and I share a look of mutual surprise and joy.

My heart tugs. I remember what she needs, and I begin praying for her. For a few moments, my life is anything but ordinary.

Peter is in jail. James, his friend, is dead. King Herod finds favor with the Jewish leaders for harassing and killing the apostles. But the church is praying. While they gather together to intercede for Peter, an angel visits the jail and sets Peter free. At first he thinks it is a vision or dream, but moments later he greets those who have spent the evening praying on his behalf.

I have to confess, I do not understand how this divine conversation moves heaven to move on our behalf, I only know it does. I know Philipians 4:6 tells us to be anxious for nothing but to spend that energy praying instead. God’s word also tells us that confession brings healing and a persistent prayer life avails much. But then something upsetting happens in my life, and I pause over my contact list wondering who I should call first.

Ah I can be a silly girl. I have the King of heaven and earth asking that I call on Him. Why would I call a human first? His name should be the first on my lips.

I meditate on this. Convinced that the days I have lived extraordinarily are the days when I have responded to His presence, when my life has revolved around someone infinitely greater than I. This means talking to strangers when He prompts me and being willing to look foolish. It means choosing humility over self-image. It is hard. It is everything that my flesh would have me avoid. And yet, at the end of the day and at the end of my life, I do not want ordinary. I want to walk with Jesus, wherever He leads. Prayer is my response to His presence. It is allowing His thoughts to trump mine and His will to steer mine. It is servant-hood. It is finding my true calling.

Cliff Jumping and Water Walking

By Makenzie Allen –

Heart in my mouth, I look at the hills covered with shaggy pine trees then down at the swimmers who’d already jumped into water below the cliff. I’d just had a conversation with my cousin. “Without muscles we’d die, even our heart is a muscle,” he said. Instead of muscle, my heart feels like a mini roller coaster at a tacky carnival. I suck air through my clenched teeth and sentimentally gaze at the landscape before me, and then force my eyes downward. Just as I’m coercing my heart to vacate my throat and return to its rightful place in the circulatory system, I think of faith. Could I have enough faith to hear the Lord and jump because I know it’s a cliff I must overcome? My commanding muscle, the brain, finally takes control and forces my legs into action. Fear leaves the pit of my stomach as my feet leave the rocky ledge.

For a brief moment, I feel like I’m never going to land. The air tugs at my hair and leaves my body feeling oddly suspended. Then, in an instant, I am embraced by the cool water and let my body float in its depths. Excitement shivers through me as I relive the feeling of falling. Then I swim towards the glassy surface and breathe in the fresh smell of the woods surrounding.

Before I jumped, my cousin had been trying to decide whether to jump. Something he said made me smile with its conciseness. “There are just too many worries.” There were worries when I stood on the cliff, and there are worries now, as I sit and write. But there don’t have to be.

I know this is a time of the Lord growing my faith. I believe in Him with my entire heart, but I’m still trying to learn to place my whole life in His hands. Like Peter, he knew Jesus was waiting for him as he walked on the water, but Peter was too afraid of the howling winds he had to cross through to get to Jesus. I am afraid of the things that block my path to Him, and I don’t want that fear to cause me to sink. I’m so thankful the Lord doesn’t give up on me in my weakness, but rather teaches me how to overcome these stormy trials.

“Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid” John 14:27 (KJV).

I can picture it in my mind, Jesus speaking those words, holding out His arms, and waiting for me across the expanse of raging waters. That’s where I’m at, walking on water towards my Lord. All that’s left to do is accept the peace He brings and dwell under the shadow of His wings.

His Love Reflected in our Relationships

Diane Mayfield –

I saw the caller ID and knew our daughter was calling to wish her dad a happy birthday. Only when I heard her voice, I knew that was not the reason for the call.

“Honey, what’s wrong,” I asked.

“Mom, I miscarried.” Then all I heard was sobbing.

Between sobs she tried to tell me the details. Over our cell phones, I could only catch portions of what she was saying, but it didn’t matter. Her heart was broken, and mine was breaking, too.

It took me back to another time. When this same daughter was in junior high school, she was trying out for cheerleader with all her friends. Tryouts were over and we parents were waiting outside the gym to hear who had made it. When she found us, she was sobbing that she didn’t make it, and all her friends did. My heart broke then as it was breaking now.

With her pregnancy, we had been waiting for our daughter to see the heartbeat so we could tell the world our good news that we would be grandparents for a third time. They were to have a sonogram on Thursday, but the radiologist said the baby was still too small.

Disappointed and yet hopeful, my daughter left for a bachelorette party in New Orleans, and her husband went to San Antonio to golf with a friend. While in New Orleans, she experienced excruciating pain at dinner, went back to the hotel where she officially miscarried.

My husband and I were so numb, shocked and aching for our daughter. As a parent I don’t think that ever changes. We found ourselves just staring into space, lost in our own pain. We had three days until we would get to see her.

When I finally held her in my arms, I could breathe again. It was the same for my husband. One of our most tender moments was our group hug with our son-in-law. It was heartwarming to see the love and care that my son-in-law has for our daughter and she for him. I could see their love deepening through this difficult time.

I stayed with her for a few days at her request while her husband attended an out of town business meeting. There were many sweet moments with my daughter over the next few days. Once again she needed me, and I was so glad to be there.

We all walked this journey together. I couldn’t fix it and I couldn’t take it away. I can’t guarantee the future either. But I know I’ll be there for her, for both of them. My husband and I both will.

Isn’t that just what our Lord does for us? We never walk this place alone. Difficulty will come but he longs to be invited to walk it with us. He aches for our pain, and He holds us along the way in the same way I held her.

This beautiful special relationship with my daughter is but a reflection of the one He has with us.

We Got Game

By Jane Thornton –

I am white. So white, in fact, that my college buddies, upon seeing me in my swimsuit, dubbed me Flo, short for florescent.

Their mockery did not scar me even though I remember it vividly almost thirty years later. I’m sure their ridicule has nothing to do with the embarrassing fact that I dye my legs before wearing shorts or skirts in the spring.

I teach in a district where several of my classes are ninety percent African American, nine percent Hispanic, and one percent white – and I have been that one percent in some classes. Jumping right in during the first week, if not the first day, of school, I address the conclusions we might draw based on appearance. What does a middle-aged, white woman wearing a dress purchased in the eighties have in common with a teenaged, black guy sagging his jeans to his knees?

Students respond well to laying the cards on the table. The issue re-emerges several times throughout the year, most notably when I try to use a term like gangster. (Don’t ask me why this term is relevant so often. I can’t explain it.) My pronunciation of this noun engenders great hilarity, with repetition and exaggerated, drawn out versions of the syllable er. So, I adapt and say gansta. Now the students are rolling on the floor. Nothing opens up a conversation like a little self-inflicted derision.

I share with my kids how my friend Michelle Stimpson’s book, Boaz Brown, opened my eyes to my ignorance. Some of her characters, who were professional, educated, Christian African Americans, struggled with prejudice—against whites. Of course, I knew I was white, even without my college friends’ insulting label of Flo, but that detail remained in my subconscious, rarely crossing my mind. I have discovered that both African Americans and Hispanics seem much more aware of their race. In fact, as a minority in my environment, I, too, have become more conscious of my color, or lack thereof.

The differences in culture among the races have also become evident. Acknowledging these undeniable distinctions does not constitute racism; de-valuing them does. I have found that frank, respectful discussions free all parties to learn and adjust their lens on life.

This possibility indicates progress for our society. We have not arrived; tact is still required and always will be. But I look forward to the day when no race feels defensive, when we can use descriptive words related to ethnicity and skin color just like words related to height and eye color without hesitating lest they seem racist. I look forward to the days when we embrace each other as we embrace this scripture: “for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. If you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to the promise” (Galatians 3:27-29 NIV).

Hmm. Yes, I see the irony of an author writing an article about being comfortable with who we are yet planning to continue with the silly, vain habit of smearing iodine-colored lotion over her pale skin to subdue its luminescence.

Comment prompt: Do you have an encouraging story in our battle with prejudice?

Sin and Love

Heather Allen –

Last week my son Noah and I had a conflict of interests. I was interested in him obeying. He was interested in playing and ignored what I asked him to do. After ten minutes of discussion and internal prayer, I sat him down. I looked into his bright teary eyes and told him the consequences of his continued disobedience: a week without any video games.

The week before this fairly normal event, I read a few parenting tips. On occasion I have given a consequence for Noah’s action and then released my child in order to model mercy . But one of the tips I read took that idea a step further, encouraging parents to take their children’s consequences from time to time. As much as I like Tetris, it is a rarity for me to play video games. But my, oh my, how I love a hot bath after a long day.

I looked at my son’s sad face and felt compassion. I said I would take his discipline. I would forego a pleasure bath for one week. Honestly, I am not sure what response I was hoping for, but he smiled and said, “You mean I can play video games?” I reminded him about redemption, and why we need it. I thought about pulling out a dry erase board for some illustrations. He looked so happy. Surely, he does not understand how much I like baths!

I did not expect my older children, lingering nearby, to offer to take the consequences by giving up what was important to them. One thought ran through my head as I asked them to join me at the table—I should have thought this through more. I felt we were standing on the brink of great spiritual understanding and I was not sure which direction to go.

If I were having this conversation with God, what would he emphasize? I spent moments throughout the day thinking about this.

I talked to my husband about it as I climbed into bed and kept talking as he snored. Do I remind Noah that his sin costs more than a bath and an apology? Does God remind me of my sin to reveal his salvation?

Romans 7:7 says we know what sin is because of the law. The Ten Commandments are the law. If we break one of these, we have broken them all. Saying sorry does not cover it.

“For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Jesus Christ. God presented him as a sacrifice of atonement through faith in his blood” (Romans 3:23-25, NIV).

Sometimes I will be able to carry my children’s consequences, but I cannot atone for their sin. Correction done well teaches children about their inherent value and their need for a Savior.

In our case, it meant reminding Noah that God’s word says children are to obey their parents. When he chooses not to, he not only disobeys us, he disobeys God.

When he understands he has sinned against God, he can also understand there is a consequence. The consequence of sin is death. The one who covered this debt is Christ.

God exposes sin, to reveal his love. Salvation is miraculous and beautiful for those who know how badly they need it.

“Blessed are they whose transgressions are forgiven, whose sins are covered.
Blessed is the man whose sin the Lord will never count against him” (Romans 4:7-8, NIV).

« Previous Page — Next Page »