Wiblog entry for 16/02/2005

Categories: uncategorized

Date: 16 February 2005 02:41:18

"You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit - fruit that will last. Then the Father will give you whatever you ask in my name." (John 15:16 NIV)

Sure. I see it. Principle stretches past the first disciples.

"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, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? 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 good gifts to those who ask him!" (Matt 7:7-11 NIV)

Absolutely. No one loves me like God does. No one will take care of me like God does. And all the more will he care for my little one, my "grandboy".

"The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective." (Jas 5:16b NIV)

Ah. There's a sticky spot, a thorn, a trap.

What of my own imperfection, my own selfishness, my own sin, when I try to intercede for the baby?

Season after season of my life, I pass through stages of understanding. I know things about what God expects of me, and of the far lengths He will go to help me be what I never could be on my own. I have felt the power in my praying.

Then along comes the little one, the silky skin, the innocent eyes, the pale drawn little face when he's in pain.

Oh, the contrast, between his innocence and mine! The night-and-day difference between my attributed, credited blamelessness, bought with blood, and the untouched endless innocence of that baby!

How do I dare to pray for him?

A few days ago I held him while he cried -- none of my own were "colicky", and, bless him, he isn't, usually, but he had a stomach virus.

I remembered watching, not so long ago, helpless to do more than pray, while the baby's father, my son, wept on an emergency room gurney with intense abdominal pain of his own. The only constructive thing I could do while we waited and waited and waited was to pray. And to grip his leg. For some reason I felt compelled to grip his calf and shin, as if to give him a Lamaze-style counter-irritant to the waves of pain he rode.

And there I was with the little one, trying to help him through an evening while the young folks were out.

All the needs were met -- he had been fed -- he was clean and dry --

And yet he cried. Then he fell into the rigid screaming of the colicky baby, the amazed despairing cry of an infant suffering pain.

I don't recall ever feeling quite so unworthy to pray.

And it's not that I ever felt myself, in myself, of myself, "worthy". Of course I'm not. My own righteousness is worth about as much as used feminine napkins.

But, you see, I had grown almost comfortable with God in prayer. Some praise, some intercession, oh boy, let's pray!

It was as if, over time, my own eloquence when praying aloud, and my willingness to lead others in prayer when they were not so comfortable, had become... normal.

I'm not sure how to explain it. I think we all always ought to be bold and fearless in approaching our Father with praises and needs, intercession and thanksgiving. I certainly am not saying we ought to fear-and-tremble in any kind of abject, wetting-our-pants kind of way. This God centered Creation around us, He died for us, He lives for us, what have we to fear?

But -- sitting on my son's huge sofa, feeling rather small with my tiny grandson in my arms, and him in such misery and baby fear --

It came to me anew how unworthy I am.

How do I dare to pray? How do I dare to assume the Master of All will hear that little squeak that is me?

The baby needed help. I turned to God, the Father, the Abba of Jesus. My remembrance of how useless and unworthy I am without the Christ was renewed.

I dared to pray, who have been in a prayer-drought for months.

I stroked and massaged his poor little abdomen. I looked into his drawn little white face, normally pink-and-white and untroubled, and I prayed for him.

I turned to the Lord totally empty of myself. What was I, who was I, that I would dare to bring Him anything of me? It was the child, all about the child, all for the child. The child is His anyway, is he not?

And the Lord takes care of His own.

So I prayed.

And immediately, Baby relaxed. The relief was such that he fell asleep instantly.

Now, either the One Who loves us heard me, or the baby fainted! Since his color came back and his breathing normalized, I have to say the prayer was answered.

It was the first time I had ever come to my Lord stripped of everything. No eloquence, no thought of any specific things to ask for or praise Him for -- just the empty shell of me and the baby in my arms, and confidence that my God would succor His little boy.

The Lord takes care of His own.