Tuesday, May 31, 2011

I'll Keep Asking

Each night when I put the kids to bed, I pray for the family that will buy our house. I pray that they'll take good care of it and have lots of love in it... and that they will come quickly! Brown-Eyed Girl asked me, in an overly tired and grumpy sort of way, "Why do you pray about someone buying our house every night?"

"God tells us to pray without stopping. And to ask and keep asking. And to seek and keep seeking. And to knock and keep knocking," was my reply.

Prayer doesn't have to be any more complicated than that. Lord, this is what we ask for. We seek your face for the answers. We'll keep knocking til we get them. It's that last part that I struggle with.

The command to ask and keep asking, seek and keep seeking, knock and keep knocking implies that we are not going to get what we ask for right away. It tells us that God is not a genie in a bottle that we rub. We don't make a wish and- POOF!- there it is.

Do I like that? Of course I don't. I have a finite mind that thinks it knows what is best for me. I can't see the future and all that God has in store for me. I just see today and what I need and want today. I tend to ask once or twice for something, then grow weary of the seeking and knocking. Cause if God was going to give it to me, and he's able to give it to me, why wouldn't he? So what's the point of continuing to ask? If he was going to answer my prayer, he would have by now, right?

Those are real thoughts I think sometimes. I'm a human, not a giant- especially in the area of faith. I walk one day at a time sifting through what I think and what I know to be true. The only truth I know is God's Word. But much of it must be taken on faith.

As I struggle with the continuous knocking, the Lord sends little reminders of truth my way, typically in the form of my children. Last night we had a bit of a lightening and thunder storm. One of my kiddos was very anxious about it and asked me to pray that it would stop. So I did. But the storm didn't stop.

"I think you prayed the wrong thing!" he exclaimed when another clap of thunder came quickly on the heels of my "Amen."

"I prayed that it would stop, buddy, but sometimes our prayers don't get answered right away. But the storm will stop."

I paused mentally and took note of my own words. I know the truth and I have no problem sharing it with my children, but I often struggle to speak the truth to myself. Is my storm any different than my child's storm? It, too, has an appointed end.

Until then, I hope to continue in prayer and live these words of truth:

"So I say to you: Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened. Which of you fathers, if your son asks for a fish, will give him a snake instead? Or if he asks for an egg, will give him a scorpion? If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!"

Luke 11:10-13

Wednesday, May 11, 2011


We're in somewhat uncharted territory, Josh and I. We're selling our home. I pretty much don't count the first time we sold a house. That was a house we only lived in for a few months, in the very early days of our marriage. It's a lot different this time.

I love this house. It's the only home my children have ever known. Mister was six weeks old when we bought it. He was a bit colicky in the evenings as a wee one, but the day we moved in to this house, he stopped crying. When we walked him through for the first time, he looked around so intently. He's always been a very intuitive child. He knew it was home.

I love how safe I feel in this house. It doesn't rattle in the wind. It doesn't let in the draft. My neighbors are kind and trustworthy. When I close the doors, I sigh with contentment. I'm home.

I love the memories in this house. A church began in our living room. A German exchange student met Jesus as her Savior in my kitchen. We've had birthday parties, Christmas parties, and countless guests in this house. Fifteen guys showed up of their own accord to put on a roof on this house for us. I've brought two babies home from the hospital to this house.

I love that I know this house. I know how much it costs to heat it. I know that in order to shut the pantry door I have to twist and pull up on the knob to get it to latch. I know how to get to the bathroom in the dark without running into walls. I know how it smells.

I love what I still don't know about this house. I still use the wrong light switch to turn on the hall light. I turn on the stairway light instead. I do the same thing in the garage breezeway.

Eight years isn't really a long time to live in one place. Josh grew up in the same house until he went to college. His parents still live there. I was from a more nomadic military family, but once my dad became a "civilian" and settled down, I spread my roots and bloomed. I've grown a lot of roots in the past eight years and figured I'd grow a lot more here. I chuckle a little and think that I'm glad one of the terms for moving is "being uprooted" and not "chopped down". It's a reminder that the only thing I'm really losing is the soil I'm in. The transplant may be a shock at first, but I will get used to it. And I will blossom again.