Learning to Ask—and Receive:  A Child’s Lessons in Trusting God

Learning to Ask—and Receive: A Child’s Lessons in Trusting God

The first experiences with faith can set the tone for a child’s whole life. At least this has been my experience.  I hope it has been yours too. The question then becomes, what do we do going forward as a result of those early formative times?

My Introduction to Prayer

My family attended church throughout my childhood. I have to admit though that I don’t remember a whole lot about my earliest experiences with church. I remember graham crackers and toys (those would be from my times in the church’s nursery), and I remember flannel board stories and learning to sing.

I’m sure there were lessons taught by my teachers, but I have no conscious memory of them. What I do remember is kneeling by the side of my bed with my mother at the end of the day. And I remember a large, framed embroidery piece that had the words of a prayer. Perhaps you are familiar with it. The words were (as best I can recall):

Now I lay me down to sleep.
I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake,
I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to take.
If I should live for other days,
I pray Thee, Lord, to guide my ways.

Amen.

As I look at those words now, staring back at me from my computer screen, I realize how truly powerful they are and what they really mean. But back then, they were simply pretty cross-stitched crewelwork on a large piece of linen, and an example of prayer.

I’m guessing that for many of you, the Lord’s Prayer (Matthew 6:9-13) was your first example of prayer. And for some of you, perhaps it was a different prayer.

Regardless of what that first example was, hopefully prayer has become a meaningful part of your life. And if it hasn’t yet, it is never too late to start.

My parents taught us that we were to always pray at night before going to bed. They also made sure we had prayer over each meal we ate together. These early prayers let me know that I could talk to my Heavenly Father. I could talk to Him about my day. I could ask for blessings for other people I loved. I could thank Him for my own blessings and the things that made me happy. And I could ask for what I needed. Those simple childhood prayers also helped me begin to understand who I was as His child—a truth I explore more deeply in my post, Why I’m Happy: God’s Plan for Me.

I don’t recall how I also learned I could talk to Him in prayer over my problems, but the earliest two specific prayers in my life both had this in common. At both of those times, I had a problem. I needed help. And somehow, I knew if I prayed over my problem, He would hear me.

Praying at the Pulpit

As a little girl of about three years old, I remember stepping up onto a wooden stool and resting my hands on a child-size pulpit. It was to be the first time I ever publicly spoke in church.

I don’t remember the topic. I don’t remember any of the specifics. But my mother has repeatedly shared with me and others the piece of that day that surprised her more than anything.

Most little children, when given this opportunity, have someone to help them. They speak softly, repeating the words of the adult who is assisting. They are very concerned about doing something for the first time and tend to be shy about it.

For some reason, however, my thoughts were not about being embarrassed to stand up in front of the other children and the adults. They were also not about trying to remember what I had practiced saying.

“You got up to the pulpit,” my mother said, “and you looked out over the children. They were being noisy and not paying attention. And that bothered you. You wanted to make sure they were listening. So, you folded your arms, bowed your head, and began praying. You prayed that the children would be quiet so that they could hear your talk.”

Although I don’t remember that prayer, it sounds like something I would do. Even now, as an adult, I find myself praying before speaking in public that what I have prepared will touch someone’s heart and make a difference for them. And I think this all stems back to that earliest experience with a child-size pulpit and a room full of talkative children.

Praying about the Rain

The first specific prayer I do remember happened when I was about five. My family lived in Southern California, and we had a swing set in the backyard with candy-striped poles for legs, a slide, some swings, and a glider with two seats. How I loved to play on that swing set!

This particular day, I played inside during the morning. Then came lunch. And after lunch, it was nap time. (I hated nap time, but it was essential that it happen for my mother’s sanity.)

Because I had been inside all day, I was really looking forward to when nap time was over so that I could play outside on the swing set. Before reluctantly going to my room after lunch, I told my mother that after my nap I wanted to go outside.

She was standing at the sink. At my words she looked up and out of the window. Then she said, “I don’t think so. Not today. It’s raining.”

Her words crushed me. But just for a moment.

I turned and went out of the kitchen and down the hall to my bedroom. I closed the door and stood by the side of my bed for a moment. Then instead of climbing up onto the bed, I knelt down beside it.

I can remember this prayer like it was yesterday. “Heavenly Father,” I began. “I need your help. I want to play outside but it is raining. Please could you stop the rain? You are the one who makes the rain, and I really need to play outside today. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.”

After that simple and straightforward prayer, I climbed up on the bed, took off my shoes, and laid down. I looked out the window at the gray sky, smiled, knowing the rain was going to stop, and then closed my eyes.

It was about an hour later that I awoke from my nap. I looked up expectantly at the window. The sun was shining and the gray clouds were gone!

I quickly put on my shoes and then ran to the kitchen. “I get to play outside!” I announced. My mother turned and reminded me that it was raining, and there would be no playing outside today.

“But it’s not raining!” I insisted. “Heavenly Father stopped the rain so I can play!”

My mother turned back toward the window and saw for herself the sunlight streaming in. She had been so absorbed in her work that she hadn’t noticed.

“Well then,” she said, “Go along and play . . .”

Heavenly Father Wants to Bless Us

Since making Loaves and Fishes: Seeing the Miracles available, many people have asked me how to develop faith.

There are a lot of scriptures about faith, and they are worth reading and pondering over. But for me, it all comes back more to trusting than anything else. My first two experiences showed me that if I asked, He would answer. And going forward, I trusted He would continue to answer.

Why does He answer? I think in part it is because He loves it when we ask. But Jesus gave us an insight in the Sermon on the Mount that allows us to put ourselves in our Heavenly Father’s shoes. Consider these words . . .

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus said,

“ . . .  what man is there of you, whom if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone?

Or if he ask a fish, will he give him a serpent?

If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask him?” (Matthew 7:9-12)

Take just a moment and consider with me what it might have been like for Heavenly Father to look down upon that little group of unruly children at church. Put yourself in His shoes. He’s hoping—you’re hoping—they will have a good experience that day. That they will learn something.

Then suddenly, a little girl in a frilly dress with a pixie haircut climbs up onto a stool and places her hands neatly on the children’s pulpit. She is about to give her first talk in church. And He knows this little girl will one day be someone who stands before people speaking, and who will write prolifically. She’s only three right now, but in her childlike way she asks for help. She asks for help. She asks for the children to be quiet so they can hear her little message.

What would you do?  I think you would open the ears of the children and help them notice that instead of giving a talk, she is praying. She is praying for them to listen.

And what would doing that show that little girl? It would show her that you are there. That you care about her. That you are listening to her prayer, and you feel her message is important too.

Now, imagine that little girl has grown up a little. This time, you look down and you see her kneeling by the side of her bed. She wants to play outside. In fact, she is telling you she needs to play outside. Are you smiling? I think I would be.

And now listen to the words she is saying, “Please could you stop the rain? You are the one who makes the rain.”

Her simple testimony of who you are and what you can do touches your heart. This is the same little girl who will one day pray for rain to water her garden when she can’t afford to pay the water bill. It’s the same little girl who will one day pray for rain to stop so that an outdoor photo shoot can happen. And it’s the same little girl who will pray that in the fierceness of the tornadic storm that she can outrun the approaching funnel.

If you stop the rain this time, what will you show that little girl? Once again, you will show her that you are there, listening to her. That you care about what she needs. And that you can indeed temper the elements if it is expedient.

And that lesson will serve her going forward.

When the Answer is No

Now I know that Heavenly Father doesn’t always answer, “Yes, my child,” when we ask. Sometimes it isn’t expedient for us to receive what we are requesting. Sometimes His plan for us – which is always aimed at helping us grow and learn – requires something different.

Divine timing is important I have learned. And I don’t always know what that divine timing will be. The question isn’t “Does the Lord not love me?”  Nor is it “Doesn’t He care?” Rather it is a question of, “Can I trust Him to know what is best?” And it is also a question of, “Will I continue to ask in faith going forward?”

Learning to trust God’s wisdom instead of relying on my own has been one of the greatest lessons of my life. I share another important step in that journey in The Day Lucy Finally Grew Up and Let Jesus Do His Job: A Lesson on Setting Boundaries.

He does love us. More than we can possibly understand. He looks down and He sees the questions we have, the prayers we are praying. And I believe He answers yes to every possible request we make that is in harmony with His plans for us.

Just like in the little prayer I had hanging on my wall, He wants me to trust that “If I should live for other days” that He will indeed “guide my ways.” And if the answer today is “No, my child,” it just might be “Yes, my child,” tomorrow.

Your Sister in Christ,

 

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The Day Lucy Finally Let Jesus Do His Job: A Lesson on Setting Healthy Boundaries

The Day Lucy Finally Let Jesus Do His Job: A Lesson on Setting Healthy Boundaries

Do you remember from the classic Peanuts gang the images of Lucy manning a booth with a sign that said, “Psychiatry 5¢”?

I never really liked Lucy’s character because she was bossy and always in everybody’s business. But there was something about that cartoon psychiatry booth that spoke to me. Something that made me want to always be available if somebody had a problem and needed me.

It started when I was a young child and I would sit with some of the outcast children on the playground. I would listen with understanding and try to make them feel better. Try to make them feel accepted.

That pattern continued into adulthood where the challenges I helped with turned into more serious adult challenges.

One day, a few years after I got married, my sister came to live with us. I loved having her there and we had great times together. But one day she shocked when she told me I reminded her of Lucy of the Peanuts gang. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear what was coming next.

“Do you realize that every Sunday you spread out a quilt on the front lawn and people come to you one after the other to sit on that quilt and tell you their problems?” she asked.

It sounded funny when she said it, but it was true. During good weather I would spread a quilt on the lawn of our Victorian house and go outside with a book or my journal. My intent was to have some time alone. But invariably someone would walk down the street and see me there.

Before I knew it that person was sitting on my quilt with me and telling me their troubles. And once they left somebody else would happen by and do likewise.

I didn’t get much journal writing done. And I didn’t get much reading done. And I didn’t get any alone time. Why? Because I didn’t know how to tell them that I was trying to do something to fill my own bucket. I didn’t know how to set a boundary.

Years passed and my sister got an apartment. My husband and I moved to a new home out of state where we knew very few people. We lived on one of two main roads in town, so I gave up sitting on my quilt in the front yard on Sundays. But the tendency for people to come to me with their troubles didn’t stop.

I think when people are in trouble or worried or struggling, they need a listening ear. And when somebody is compassionate like I am, they are naturally drawn to that because they have found a willing listener.

Being a sounding board for others is one thing but it can be quite a heavy load when you internalize the burdens of others and take them on your own shoulders.

A few years after we made that move, my husband and I divorced. To support myself, I went to work for a domestic violence women’s shelter. It was a new experience for me, and yet it wasn’t. I was in a role where my job was to help the women in shelter solve their problems. Every day.  After 3 years of working there, the overwhelm I felt was just incredible.

Because of this, when an opportunity came up to transfer within the organization, I took it. In that new position I worked with people who were in generational poverty.

Once again, I was in a role where people told me about their very heavy burdens. And once again I was in a role where it was my job to help them lighten their load and find solutions.

Being compassionate is a Christ-like attribute. But because of my type A personality, I had developed a pattern that took that strength to the extreme. It became a weakness to me that drained me.

Several years after working in that job transfer, I was suddenly bedridden.

The doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. I had no strength. I had no energy. Eventually I learned that I had been under so much stress for so long that my adrenal glands were overworked. My body was shutting down. I was eventually told that what I was experiencing was adrenal fatigue.

I’m happy to say I recovered, but my recovery was very slow. It was 8 months before I could be out of bed for an hour a day. And that was an accomplishment.

You would think that I would learn to do better. But I didn’t. A decade later I was on the brink of adrenal fatigue again for the very same reason!

My trouble was that I thought helping everybody solve their problems was what God wanted me to do. After all the scriptures tell us to “Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.” (Galatians 6:2).

In another place we read, “…come into the fold of God, … be called his people, and … willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light; Yea, …willing to mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort . . .” (Mosiah 18:8-9)

Those verses had become the pattern for my life. Or so I thought.

Then about a year ago, God introduced me to Bethany. Bethany was warm, gracious, and kind. Every time I saw her, she seemed calm and unhurried. She served faithfully in her church, volunteered in the community, and cared deeply about people.

Yet there was something noticeably different about her. She wasn’t weighed down by everyone else’s problems. She wasn’t frazzled. She wasn’t overwhelmed.

She carried herself with a quiet peace that I longed to understand.

One afternoon, as we were having lunch together for the first time, I asked her.  “Bethany,” I said, “how do you do it?  I know people come to you for help just like they come to me, but somehow you stay calm. You’re never overwhelmed like I am. You’re always lovely. What’s your secret?”

She giggled a little and then smiled. “Let me guess,” she said, “You’re a fixer . . . just like I used to be.”

No one had ever described me that way before. But she had me pegged.

“Yep,” I said. “I guess I am.”

After a moment or two of silence, I added, “So, what changed?”

Her answer stunned me. “I went to counseling for a year,” she said. “And during that year I learned something that completely changed the way I look at helping people.”

I leaned in.

“When you try to fix somebody else’s problems,” she continued, “what you’re really doing is taking control.”

Ouch.

She let the words hang in the air for a moment.

It was uncomfortable but I knew she wasn’t criticizing me. She understood me. She had once been exactly where I was.

Then, in her kind and gentle way, Bethany shared one of the greatest Aha! moments of my life.

I want you to listen carefully to what she said because it was nothing that I expected to hear. Her words were simple, but they carried profound truth, and provided an epiphany for me.

“When you try to fix somebody’s problems,” she said, ” you’re stepping in between that person and Jesus. And you’re not Jesus. So, step out of the way. Then point them to Him. He will always be there for them, and His solutions will always be better than anything you or I could come up with.”

What Bethany was really saying was that compassion and control are not the same thing. Showing compassion is Christlike. Trying to manage someone else’s life is not.

Without realizing it, I had crossed that line over and over again.

I wasn’t simply listening. I wasn’t simply comforting. I was trying to rescue people. And in doing so, I was unintentionally stepping into a role that belonged to Jesus Christ alone.

I’m happy to say that as of this writing, I’ve been in a support group led by Bethany’s counselor for several months now. And the things I’m learning there are changing my life.

I’ve learned that I’m a person who never developed the ability to set boundaries. I just abided the boundaries of everyone else. So, if somebody needed something, I was there. If they needed to talk, I would listen. I was effectively “on call 24/7.”

By living that pattern consistently, I was constantly overwhelmed. I was always behind in my own housework and taking care of my own responsibilities.

I felt like I was doing something good when I tried to help people, but like Bethany said, I’m not Jesus. So, I needed to start getting out of the way. I needed to let people turn to the Lord for their answers.

Yesterday, it finally happened. For the first time in my life, I chose to be brave.

I got a call from a friend who had a big problem. It was such a big problem that I did not know even one thing to tell her. And her call came at a time where once again I was feeling overwhelmed by everything I was carrying.

She asked if I could come over right away and help her understand some documents. And in that moment, something told me this was where I had to draw a line in the sand. This problem was hers, not mine. It wasn’t mine to help. It wasn’t mine to counsel her. And it wasn’t mine to carry or solve.

I took a deep breath. I gathered my courage. And then I said, “I am sorry. I can’t come right now.”

My friend was desperate for help. I could hear it in her voice. My heart went out to her. But I couldn’t go against the feeling I was having that there was nothing for me to do here except point her to the Lord.

I did give her the names of a couple of people who might be able to help her understand the documents. And then I suggested that she pray about what to do once she understood them.

She heard me but asked if I could come another day as soon as possible to help her. Every part of me wanted to say yes. But I didn’t.

What happened after that is nothing short of miraculous. Bethany had told me that if I got out of the way that Jesus would be there. He would be there to solve the problem with the person whose problem it was. Her words were prophetic.

This morning I received a text. My friend told me that after we talked yesterday, she read the documents herself and tried to understand them. Indeed, the situation was grim. And then she prayed for help and guidance.

That was quite a moment for me. She had done exactly the right thing.

I read on. Her text explained that her prayers were fruitful. The Lord gave her an answer. It was nothing I would have thought of. But His solution was brilliant! It solved every part of her problem. Every. Single. Part.

It was an Aha! moment for me. Bethany had been right. When I stepped out of the way . . . Jesus stepped in.

I don’t believe those scriptures were ever asking me to become someone else’s Savior. They were inviting me to love people the way the Savior loves them. Sometimes that means listening. Sometimes it means comforting. And sometimes it means lovingly pointing them to the only One who can truly heal them. The One who has a plan for them.

The additional Aha! I had yesterday was that I don’t have to be Lucy anymore…and it’s going to be a blessing to everyone if I’m not.

Yesterday, at sixty-two years old, I finally understood that.

So today. . . I’m figuratively taking down my shingle. I’m folding up my quilt.

Tomorrow I’m going to call my sister and tell her. . .

Lucy finally grew up.

Your Sister in Christ,

 

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