“Lord, would it be too much to ask?”
“Lord?” Sigh. “Would it be too much to ask…?”
I take a step onto the grass.
“I’m going to walk a straight path from this point until I reach Damon out in the field.”
I take another step. Then another step, keeping my head down while my eyes quickly scan the area in my peripheral in front of me.
“If I could just so happen to find his airplane’s wheel? That would be pretty awesome.”
I continue my path forward, but my prayer changes to rehearsing the consoling speech I’m about to give Damon when I reach him at the end of this slow walk, telling him it’s time to give up looking, and we need to go home.
Damon received a remote control airplane for his birthday. We tried flying it in our backyard. But…that quickly ended with Brett climbing halfway up a pine tree in our neighbor’s yard to untangle the contraption stuck in the branches. Therefore, I took the kids to an open field behind the church where Brett’s office is located.
What started out as laughter, running, chasing, and screams of joy…is now ending with a lost wheel hidden in a massive grassy field, with a disappointed recently-turned eight-year-old boy.
“Don’t shame him for not taking off the wheels first. Encourage him. How can I spin this with hope? Be prepared for tears.” I’m giving myself my own pep talk in anticipation for a possible meltdown.
I’m about halfway to Damon from where I started when I jerk to a stop.
“You have got to be kidding me!? NO WAY!” There it is. The tiny wheel hooked onto a wire, lying perfectly on top of the grass, in the exact path where my foot is about to step.
“DAMON!” I exclaim. “I FOUND IT!” I pick it up, and he runs to me in response. “Now, THAT, Damon, is a MIRACLE. I prayed, and there is no other way I could have found this without the Lord allowing this to be right in my path to you.”
Damon runs to tell the news to his sister, who is waiting in the van with the twins. I take my time walking back, pondering what had just happened. I climb into the driver’s seat and turn around to face the kids.
I repeat the beginning since Kherington didn’t hear it. “That was a miracle! I asked the Lord that I would find it in the exact path to Damon, and He heard and answered me! Isn’t that amazing!?”
They both agree with enthusiasm. I continue, “Isn’t that just like our God?! He cares sooo much about us. We are like that lost airplane wheel in a huge field, yet God still sees us. This is what it means in the Bible when it says, ‘You are worth more than sparrows,’ or ‘God knows the number of hairs on your head!’”
“And God knows the numbers of sand in the ocean!” Kherington adds.
“Yes! He is also gracious enough to help me find the wheel, something that is not that important in the grand scheme of life, just like He is gracious in the big things!”
At this point, I’m convinced I’m talking to myself. The kids have started chatting about the day, yet I drive away in such awe of my God. I can’t stop smiling, praising Him for this beautiful truth that He reminded me of.
I have learned to lament. I have learned to cry out to the Lord, turning to Him in my pain and suffering. I have begged Him, I have yelled at Him, and I have been on my face in complete desperation for only His grace and refuge. In return, I have known His presence, peace, comfort, and hope.
But why do I act like He is only available in my suffering and pain? Why does my practical theology, which is what I really believe about God by how I think and act, show that the little things in my life aren’t that important to bring to Him? Or why am I not on my face desperate for His grace, power, and strength in the mundane daily things? You know, the things where I say, “I’ve got this, Lord. I don’t really need you for this. You have more important things to oversee. I’ll come to you when things really matter, or when I can’t handle it myself anymore.”
Eek. I’m cringing as I write this because it’s true! I repent of my self-sufficiency and pride.
In Paul E. Miller’s book, A Praying Life, he comments on John 15:7, in which Jesus says, “If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you.”
“Ask whatever you wish.” Why didn’t [Jesus] bring balance to that statement if that is what he meant? I think the answer is that we are not balanced. Instinctively, we are either confident in ourselves or despairing in ourselves. In both cases we are paralyzed, not moving toward God. Like a parent whose toddler is about to wander off, Jesus is yelling, “My Father has a big heart. He loves the details of your life. Tell him what you need and he will do it for you.” Jesus wants us to tap into the generous heart of his Father. He wants us to lose all confidence in ourselves because “apart from [Jesus] you can do nothing”; he wants us to have complete confidence in him because “whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit” (John 15:5).
All of Jesus’ teaching on prayer in the Gospels can be summarized with one word: ask. His greatest concern is that our failure or reluctance to ask keeps us distant from God.*
The Lord didn’t have to answer my prayer. Either way, He still wanted me to come to Him, draw close to Him, and declare that my trust and dependency is in Him alone, whether I found the wheel or not. But He chose in this instance to reveal how big His heart is to teach me: He isn’t far from us to hear our tragic, repetitive, emotional, simple, and everything in between prayers.
He wants us to bring Him into all of it because He wants all of us.
He wants us to see Him in everything because He sees us in everything.
My Father holds my boys, Seth and Roi, in His hands forever, while seeing my other boy fervently in search for his lost airplane wheel.
“No, My daughter. Nothing is too much to ask Me.”
*To get the full grasp on Paul E. Miller’s perspective on prayer, I highly recommend his book, A Praying Life, if you’ve been searching for a book on this topic.
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