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How To Find The Faith To Be Set Free (Hint – It’s Under Our Fear)

/ Lori Lawe / Leave a comment

Our pastor is unusual.

And one aspect of his life, the part he doesn’t notice, points at the reality of what my life could look like.

If I can only find my freedom.

I look desperately in my closet for a flying suit.

For something to make me look like one of those flying squirrels.

Flying squirrels DON’T, in fact, fly.

They take longer to land because of the large flaps of skin under their armpits.

But even counterfeit flying is more than I have the strength to hope for.

No luck.

No squirrel costumes were tucked away in my closet or my mind.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fly.

I sit down to my lunch again and to my thousands of notifications online. I’m busy. I forgot that I lost my hope.

And then, through his example, this pastor opened the window in that stale room where I placed my discouragement.

Maybe there is hope I can shake this fear after all? Fear follows me when I try to fly like a rock tied to my foot. I try to shake it off.

When I don’t rise very high on the spiritual adventure God bids me to take with him, I shrug my shoulders and move on.

Because we all carry rocks, don’t we? Time to sit back down and enjoy my lunch and … wait! What did the pastor say?

He told us, “Be careful walking to your car. There are some interesting characters out.”

He warns us to be careful in our sleepy, mostly nonviolent town. There are indeed some guys on bikes doing who knows what. But these ruffians are harmless for the most part when they interact with strangers passing by.

The surprising part is this pastor’s grace extended to OUR fears compared to his OWN freedom in response to fear.

On the one hand, he warns us, protects us, and wants to ensure we feel comfortable in the most minuscule place of danger.

On the other hand, he just returned from another lone trip to the Democratic Republic of Congo last week, where civil unrest and bloodshed are as commonplace as the birds singing each morning here in our tiny town.

He is genuinely concerned about our fears – real or imagined. However, fear is not a significant factor in limiting his obedience to the voice of God. The opposite extremes startle me.

The “I don’t want you to feel unsafe” and “I travel to nutso places 99.999% of us wishy-washy first-world types would never dream of going of our own volition” is jarring.

He’s not a cowboy type, swaggering his bravado and making fun of us skinny wimps in the corner, afraid to speak at the high school dance. He takes our fears, real or imagined, seriously.

Kind of like God does with us.

And, of course, this pastor is a human, and so he is also annoying like us. But this one aspect of his life is an enigma that gives me hope.

Can I take my fears seriously and still not be imprisoned by them?

It feels like the rock is about to fall off my foot, allowing me, finally, to be light enough to learn to fly.

I can smell freedom, like fresh air, in a stale room.

Do you need help untying that rock from your foot, too?

I wonder how high in the spiritual realm God will lead us.

Come on! Let’s give it a try, friend.

Our destinies are waiting for us. Wearing this layer of hope, like a parachute, is enough to give us strength to rise into a spiritual adventure. And what do you sense Holy Spirit nudging you to begin?

There’s a big pile of rocks or fear that we’ve placed over there on that table.

Ready to untie the rock of fear still attached to your foot and place it on the pile, too?

Jesus is comforting you as you do this, like our pastor is, through his example.

How are you an example in another’s life of how God can use an ordinary person to soar?

What is He saying when you have time to listen and through the community that encourages you?

It sure beats eating more snacks and waiting for text notifications to BING again.

Ready yet, friend, for the adventure of a lifetime?

Can’t find a map? Let’s talk about that next time.

How Death Of This Plant Creates New Life In Us

/ Lori Lawe / Leave a comment

The amaryllis is slowing diminishing in size and splendour, and shrinking back to that mysterious place in its pot where life begins.

My amaryllis blossom will be no more very soon.

You plant a “dead” seed; soon there is a flourishing plant. 

The Message

And like all death, the point is not that there has been a death but that a new season is beginning for those who carry on.

Plants take time to grow. He has time to wait. And though this amaryllis flower has no voice, God spoke quietly, inaudibly to human ears, through the life of this ordinary bulb when it flowered for the first time in twenty years, as described here.

This flower is a megaphone, taking the inaudible sound of the voice of Jesus from deep, deep within the earth and transforming His words into a glorious flower that our eyes can perceive.

The flower has no mouth to magnify the words spoken by God, and yet its life points us to Jesus, to the place in His heart where inaudible sounds are translated to the muffled sounds that we pick up and examine and ask each other to help us translate.

This flower is another clue on the journey.

Are you ready to go on an adventure with me, dear friend, and to try to unpack what God may be whispering through the life of an ordinary plant, one that blooms for as long as we can stare at our watches, unhurried, before it’s life is consumed, once more in darkness?

This flower teaches us how we should live, our lives erupting as a firework from below ground, to just as quickly be extinguished as the fire of our lives burns out, and we return to dust.

And this silent flower has spoken so loudly to my soul that an awakening has occurred deep, deep within. Do you sense it, too? Come with me, friend, on a journey of waking up, sitting up, opening our ears, getting our legs to move and run, and learning to fly.

And as is the case, whenever the most important lessons are to be grasped, we find our most significant clues in the things the world ignores. I sent this plant on its last stop before the garbage dump, not once but twice. I didn’t have patience for the things that required me to be transformed before I could perceive them.

This amaryllis plant became my teacher.

A series of blog posts (if I remember to write them) will describe what this plant taught me so far, including:

1. It’s not our lives that matter, dear friend, and we comfort each other once we have the strength to recognize this truth. And yet, when our lives produce an aroma like fresh bread, that strengthens another, God’s orchestra produced from the instruments of each life overwhelms the darkness. This symbolic orchestra is our hope.

2. Sometimes, God upturns the soil of our lives. This uprooting is chaotic for us and disorienting. But this is also where we find hope.

3. Where is God about to grow a new leaf in your life? We can never tell exactly where the amaryllis will sprout leaves, only that it will, eventually, despite all apparent odds, sprout. Everything living must grow.

Can you remove the rocks where He may be hovering over the waters or the soil, about to spout new life in you?

4. Do you need a friend who can help you lift the rocky burden that stops the new life from flourishing, where His Spirit is hovering? We need those who see in the Spirit when we are looking for our eyes on the ground next to us. We need a doula or a medical doctor to help us give birth. Journeying with others is safer for the life we carry. Who is on your team?

5. The thing that kept me awake at night back then, that my community and I pleaded with God to change, is the amaryllis that has grown through my softened heart this season. Noticing how God watered, tended and then showed us a new leaf sprouting in our past hopeless situations or dry amaryllis pots gives us faith for the next impossible thing He whispers.

God, give us faith for the hope you long to spring forth from our dry amaryllis pots. You have enough breaths from Your Spirit of guidance and encouragement for every seemingly hopeless situation. Give us eyes to see further than the mundane ordinary.

How To Look Good At Church

/ Lori Lawe / Leave a comment

Photo source

Now she looks good.

This lady is 82 years old and wears a fancy hat EVERY Sunday at church.

Yes, I DO want to be like her when I grow up!

I even started collecting fancy hats at thrift stores to prepare for my old age. Below is a picture of me as Ms. Lovelybottom, the alter-ego who teaches our homeschooled kids manners. (Don’t ask. That advice is for when I know you better. A lot better).

So, yes! Some of us look GOOD when we go to church! And some of us look REALLY GOOD!

Once, I was featured on (my) blog detailing in the footnote WHAT name-brand clothing and accessories I was wearing! (For those who read that post, please don’t tell them EVERYTHING!) The point is that I am clearly qualified to advise on how to look good at church.

Ahem . . .

There was once a family led by a single mom who attended a church. She had four boys and one girl and EVERY WEEK, they were late. Sometimes, we would see one of the kids swatting the other as they pushed each other through the front door.

There was also a single lady who attended that same church.

Every week, the single lady looked like Mary in the show Downton Abbey. She looked VERY VERY good. AND her clothes were ironed.

And she didn’t push anyone on her way in the door.

She arrived early and unhurried.

But she turned up her nose at the four boys and their little sister. She looked down on them a bit, revealing her skinny, naked heart without much life. Her love was cold.

Through God’s eyes, she didn’t look as good as she thought.

Because God looks at the revelation we STILL HAVE compared to the revelation that we HAVE BEEN GIVEN. (If confused, see the explanation here).

The four boys still had some character issues to sort out, as they pushed each other around, missing their father, who could have modelled gentleness but was absent.

And their little sister, looking up at the four boys, sucking her thumb, her unwiped nose and big curious eyes peeking over her stuffy? She looked over at her brothers and smiled. They are learning.

Some of their rough edges rub off as their hearts register a few more millimetres of God’s love each Sunday.

The siblings’ incremental, growing love for each other infects the well-dressed woman too. The boys are making her look good as they grow and learn to direct their God-given energy and love to each other well. Eventually, they also serve her, in love, helping her with some outdoor work one Saturday afternoon.

And soon they are all – the little girl, the four boys, the well-dressed single woman – looking much better in their hearts, where it matters to God.

And that’s how we look good in church.

We keep going every Sunday and let the annoying people there refine us, grow us, and stretch us.

It’s the idiots (um…including us!) that make us look good at church.

And God looks at our hearts and is pleased with the growth.

We glean a drop or two more of understanding of God’s love for us, which gives us patience and a sense of humour to pour a drop or two of love onto our neighbours, especially the annoying ones.

Our hearts look better than they WOULD HAVE if we had stayed home each Sunday.

And there is a little more love in the world.

But having a nice hat helps, too, of course.

You’re welcome!

Good luck!

Stumbling Under The Burdens Of Life? Easiest Traveling Ahead

/ Lori Lawe / Leave a comment

Our good-natured, fluffy golden doodle bared his teeth and lunged at our bunny.

Our bunny would have had significant injury had I not automatically reefed on his leash, so he bit the air next to the bunny instead.

Our dog had never before tried to bite our bunny. We were teaching our dog to lie submissively when the bunny was near. The two animals often touched noses, and sometimes, tail wagging, our dog licked the bunny.

But not on that day.

Immediately before this incident, I relayed a dream I had the night before to my husband and daughter. It was about a bunny mauled by a dog. The bunny was dead, or so I thought, but when I picked it up to bury it, I realized it was still breathing, but barely.

Was there a link between this odd dream I relayed and the bizarre, similar real-life event that happened only five minutes later?

We don’t want to be too quick to assume every dream is from God when processed pizza is the source most often.

But nor do we want to toss all our dreams, assuming God can’t speak through them.

How can we know when God may be speaking in a dream?

When we see something similar happening twice, it can be an indicator to stop, pray, and ask God.

For example, this happened in the ancient texts of spiritual wisdom.

When Pharoah had dreams of spiritual guidance, he had two dreams with a similar meaning, although the content was different. Same with Joseph. And God uses this pattern with me, I’ve noticed.

God says things twice to get our attention, sometimes.

So what was He saying through the bunny and dog dream, if indeed He was speaking?

In the whirlwind and confusion of my unprocessed thoughts, concerns, and worries, one person in my life seemed to be rushing into a situation, like a bunny, moving fast. And it was dangerous for her.

Help her, God seemed to be imploring me.

Help her to see the danger that she cannot see.

So I phoned her, and spoke my heart, and warned her.

And she listened.

Will she heed this warning and slow down? That is not a weight for me to carry. We all must live our own lives, choose our paths, and face our monsters we meet on the way.

Whenever you hear me say something, warn them for me. If . . . you warn [them] and they keep right on . . . You’ll have saved your life.

The Message

We held hands for a moment, walking together along our shared paths, her and I. And I spoke the words that seemed to be birthed by the heart of God through my lips; however garbled these words may have emerged, and however tainted with filth from my own life.

And we parted ways, with a wave, her and I.

So we look around in wonder as we journey because we don’t know who may touch our hearts with love next.

Because I wonder who will be burdened by God to blow like the wind so I move a little to the left or right, as God whispers to their souls? Who next must speak to me what it seems He is whispering to them about my life?

And life’s journey becomes a little easier to travel.

Roll A Dice or Ask God?

/ Lori Lawe / Leave a comment

What is the best way to make decisions? Does God play a part in our future decision-making? And if so, how?

Do we sit alone in our bedroom, eyes tightly closed and hope for a magic genie or an angel to answer questions about our careers or other important life decisions?

Or do we say a quick prayer and then do what seems right in our eyes, ignoring God until Sunday morning?

Or is there a middle way, where He sometimes speaks and where we sometimes hear Him?

I choose the rolling a dice option.

Roll the dice. My degree major is . . .

Four years later, I exited college, holding that degree certificate and wondering whether to turn left or right at the next fork in the road.

Can I borrow your dice?

We expect to make decisions this way.

This is mostly because we’d never heard of strolling through life any other way.

The chatty stranger I met yesterday recalled that when he was in his late teens, his mom announced that she wouldn’t have a son of hers playing video games in the basement! (There may have been an interesting story there, but he skipped that part.)

Regardless, it was time for him to find a job.

He flipped through the local college career guide like a Sears catalogue and chose “Millwright.”

The term had a nice ring to it.

Thirty working years later, he was sitting in a local coffee shop recounting this story to me.

It was time for his daughter to flip through an updated Sears catalogue, close her eyes, point to a career option and . . . BINGO! What career lay under her finger when she opened her eyes? Better dedicate the next 40 years to that option….!

What if there is a better way?

There is.

I recently chatted with two local teens from our church at a sledding party. We discussed their futures between the “Yahoo!” and crashes.

For a few minutes.

I had been thinking recently of offering to pray for discernment with her, to sort out the youth’s fears from her passions, to think through whether red herring motives, such as a desire for excessive money, praise of others, or prestige, were the sneaky drivers in their car, leading eventually to a crash when these idols failed 5 or 15 or 20 years later.

To pray and listen together.

We didn’t make the time for that, but it was on my to-do list. Way, way down on my to-do list. But on my heart.

When I spoke to one of them yesterday, I felt Holy Spirit guiding the questions.

And then, as she spoke about something else, Holy Spirit whispered, teacher. She’s a teacher.

I was startled.

So was she.

Fear of being good enough at explaining things had been holding her back. However, she was offered a part-time teaching assistant job at a local school she hadn’t applied to yet. I encouraged her to update her resume, apply for this part-time job and check it out.

She had been procrastinating, letting fear hold her back.

Then the teen confided that many years ago, while praying, a young girl told her that she thought God was saying she would be a teacher, also.

Hmmm . . . maybe God IS like the potter, shaping us, moulding us, knowing who we are.

It sure beats rolling a dice.

If you don’t know what you’re doing, pray to the Father. He loves to help.

The Message

Whether she chooses to work through her fears is her decision. My role was only to plant a seed. She may dig up the plant and toss it aside or water and nurture it if she senses God also guiding her in this direction.

And if I was wrong, then she can slap me in the face and we move on! (Actually she doesn’t slap me in the face. She has to love me!) But if I got it wrong, as I strain to understand and practice listening to God with my broken ears, I chalk it up to a learning experience and try again tomorrow.

We’re learning together how to walk in faith.

And sometimes, when we pray for and love one another, what He says is amazing.

Like the time God directed my career through the prayer of a friend.

Thank you, Jesus, for loving to answer us when we call to You! Help us let You steer our cars. We pray you blow your healing wind on our ears so the muffled sounds make sense to our hearts with broken motives and unhealed desires.

Losing Some Battles, Homeschoolers? Let’s Aim To Win These 4 Long-Term Wars

/ Lori Lawe / Leave a comment

If our goal is win long-term wars, we will lose short-term battles.

As homeschoolers, we lose many short-term culture battles because the system is not designed for us.

Take swimming, for example.

I signed one daughter up for a private swim lesson, one-on-one with a teacher. Then, wait – I noticed they offered private swim lessons for up to two students. I decided to throw both kids into the pool.

“Oh, Ma’am,” the lifeguard explained apologetically, “we can’t take both of your children simultaneously because they aren’t in EXACTLY THE SAME swim level. The rule is that for a private swim lesson with a MAXIMUM of two students, both kids must be at EXACTLY the same swim level.

As homeschool parents, our brains go into culture shock.

EVERYTHING WE DO, ALL DAY, EVERY DAY HAS TO BY DEFINITION, be tailored to teach multiple students at various levels.

I found myself wanting to explain how to homeschool.

“Oh, come ON!” I wanted to say. The younger kid will undoubtedly learn a BIT of the more complex swim stroke if not the same proficiency! Undoubtedly, the older kid can do a BIT of review and maybe brush up on the nuances of a swim stroke while the younger one gets the main idea.

But if I were to speak, the words would go around the ears and over the head of the lifeguard. These words cannot penetrate -be understood. Two cultures have made their way to the front lines of the battlefield and only one culture wins this war.

I placed only one child in private swim lessons.

Inwardly, I laugh hysterically at the idea that two children of slightly different skill levels can’t be taught simultaneously. But my morale plummeted a little because I lost another battle. We lose a lot of short-term culture battles as homeschooling parents.

We must decide which long-term wars we are ultimately strategizing to win.

I propose the following:

1. We strategize to win the war of, when kids have left home, having kind children.

2. We strategize to win the war of having VERY intelligent children.

But they may look like idiots according to middle school report cards (losing a battle) when we are aiming for high SAT scores at graduation (ultimate war to win). “What is she going on about now?” you ask. I’ll explain next time.

3. We strategize to win the war of having passionate and engaged young adults.

For example, consider this post. We don’t kill our children’s natural God-given drive to learn. Similarly, the Homeschool Legal Defence Association found homeschooled students to be particularly diverse, tolerant and civically engaged.

4. We strategize to win the war of having the strength and wisdom, as parents, to finish the race of homeschooling for as long as this is the best option for our family.

In the interim, though, we are in our cocoons and so we are losing cultural battles all over the place, or at least it appears that way since we are blind for a while to what truly matters. Our goal is to win the long-term war of living in alignment with our most authentic intuition of a good life (although the good life almost kills us).

When our transformation finally arrives, and our identity is formed by how God (not our culture) sees us, homeschooling parents can finally relax and have fun.

Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.

The Message

Then, our children can survive the most important, long-term wars.

What wars are you preparing your kids for, getting them dressed in armor for, hoping they will survive the fight?

Jesus, give us wisdom, we pray. May we look at each of our children and at our culture, using the glasses You use to look through. And may we strategize well so that our children will win the most important wars. And strengthen us for this challenging journey of parenting and of standing up and of walking upriver in the strong tide of our culture, we pray.

May Your Kingdom Come.

Everyone Has Someone To Mourn With!

/ Lori Lawe / Leave a comment

Last time I talked about mourning together with the group.

I also talked about coyotes, but let’s face it, we all know I just made that stuff up. You should never trust stuff you read on the internet, anyway!

Except this post, of course.

So I spoke to my friend this week about her experiences mourning together in community.

The only problem is that she has read some of this blog once and so if I talked about what she said, I would have to tell the truth.

I’ll stick to my own experience.

So last week I was a blathering mess at church.

This was embarrassing, even for me, but the cool thing is that I didn’t have to purposefully stop the flow.

Imagine you’re in a room and the God of the universe (who exists) commands everyone in that room to love you. And they try their best to obey God (in our pathetic, limited, human way).

That’s what church is supposed to be like actually. We can bring whatever emotion is tagging along behind us and we don’t have to hide it. Sometimes we may need to cry and that’s OK. They have to love you!

Sometimes just sensing the presence of God in communal worship is what starts the tears.

And when we finally open our hearts to God and allow one disappointment to surface, don’t you find that a geyser opens up within us sometimes? There is a lot of other stuff that probably should be released as well.

And just letting some of that stuff emerge is actually healing.

That’s the irony. There is an opportunity for healing to occur if we can just stop holding it together for a few minutes, stop sucking in our guts, and stop pretending our real life matches our online persona (I’m not as neurotic and whiny in person as I seem online of course!).

I accidentally caught his eye -the guy at church I don’t know super well. But his look of empathy towards me, of real empathy, even as he tried to hide his gaze, was enough to open up the cracks on some more layers of disappointment that needed to be released.

Keep a sharp eye out for weeds of bitter discontent. A thistle or two gone to seed can ruin a whole garden in no time. The Message

Sometimes what comes out, weaved into the tapestry of stuff that has wounded our hearts over the years is bitterness and disappointment towards God.

He is standing there, ready with a towel to dry off all the tears that are soaking you. He already knows how you feel. He is so happy that you’re finally bringing who you are, and letting him comfort you.

You can rest in his arms now, like a child sitting on their mother’s lap, clinging to her, and receiving comfort somehow.

It’s going to be OK little one, he whispers to your ear.

I’ve got you now.

As you listen quietly to the song below, may you open up your heart to God, and may you find comfort, dear one.

My Heart Reaches Through This Blog Post To Shake Your Hand. Really.

/ Lori Lawe / Leave a comment

She reached her hand through the book I was reading and grabbed my throat, squeezing me.

Her name was Immaculée Ilibagiza and she was the author of the book Left to Tell. Her hand was her words, convicting me.

The book was about her true story of surviving the Rwandan genocide in 1994.

Up until that point, I had been reading, my cool drink by my side, sipping as I lounged in my comfy chair.

“Where were all the foreigners who should have been speaking to their politicians, holding up banners to raise awareness, sending us relief?”

Her hand round my throat.

In one sentence I had gone from passive observer to active participant. To an active participant who had failed the protagonist during her moment of terror.

Yes, where were we, anyway?

I read later that the criminal and civic trials of football star O.J. Simpson dominated the news during that time.

We were distracted.

And now it’s my turn to reach my hand through this blog and to touch your heart.

I want to shake your hand and say thank you.

I am writing this blog because I am looking for the types of conversations that I want to be having more frequently.

I can tolerate shallow conversations but just barely.

I mean, I can tolerate shallow conversation in the same way that dogs can handle cuddling. Most of us assume that dogs love to cuddle right, just like most of us assume that all we want is shallow conversation.

But multiple dog trainers have assured me that dogs DON’T, in fact, love to cuddle. “The cuddliest breeds can simply tolerate it,” one assured me.

As an aside, I have learned that the only true exception to this general principle is my own dog. If I wrap both my arms tightly around his neck and hold him close, he likes to stay with me.

(Doesn’t shallow conversation feel a bit like that sometimes?)

And so in the same way that most dogs (besides mine) can simply TOLERATE cuddles, many more of us than we realize, I think, also can simply TOLERATE shallow conversations.

Topics with depth are what I truly love to write and talk about with others.

And because you are interested in these kinds of deeper topics, that are further under the surface of things than the weather and that sometimes touch the depths of our hearts, well, my heart reaches out to your heart in a warm embrace.

I am thankful for you. You reading these posts encourages me to keep opening up to the deeper thoughts of life.

And please be encouraged to comment with your thoughts, so we can get the conversation going both ways.

Or join us in our next conversation and prayer time.

That’s all.

Deny Yourself An Oreo And Find God

/ Lori Lawe / 3 Comments

Her t-shirt said, “Do what feels good.” She was morbidly obese proudly flaunting her worldview, emblazoned across her chest. Sure, maybe eating whatever we want whenever we want would feel good. But how would our knees feel if that was our consistent mantra so that eventually even walking became painful?

No, this worldview didn’t quite line up with reality. We all know that short-term joy can lead to long-term pain and vice versa. There must be a wiser worldview than this one.

Jesus said, “WHEN (emphasis mine) you fast . . .” When. Ouch. I had been a Christian for 30 years, and the time hadn’t seem to have yet come when I needed to fast.

I mean, I didn’t want to be legalistic about this whole thing. Kingdom living is not about ticking off a bunch of boxes.

The early monks got a bunch of theology wrong, we later learned, looking down our academic noses at them hundreds of years later, from the CORRECT vantage point of CURRENT theology.

The early monks and nuns would flagellate themselves. They would deliberately wear horse hair shirts that were itchy, take vows of poverty, and . . . . the theme of today . . . they would FAST.

Sounds like archaic Christianity, I mumble, crumbs from a half-eaten box of Oreos spewing from my mouth as I speak. I play another round of Candy Crush on my iPad. I know what spirituality REALLY is because I’m a modern.

Huh? What? I spew more Oreo crumbs accidentally in an effort to talk. Do you think the monks may have gotten some things right, that we don’t do today? I scoff and wait.

“Yes. They fasted,” you continue.

Every time I read my bible and get to the part about Jesus saying that we will fast, of course, I feel a pang of guilt. Why didn’t I fast, anyway?

So I started fasting.

I thought that I would start with fasting to sort out some of the global mishaps. I would pray about Ukraine and Russia. Stuff like that. World-changing stuff.

So I put away my Cheerios and milk for an hour one morning and had a go at fasting and prayer.

And Jesus was pleased.

Me? I wasn’t so pleased with myself.

I fell flat on my face. I was distracted, hungry, and then gave up after a half hour or so. What’s the point?

Get up, Jesus seemed to be saying, holding out His hand to me. Try again. He gave me a smile and a hug. How could He be pleased with me?

The next week, another fall, a big, lamentable flail. And the next and the next.

Jesus helped me up each time and His pleasure grew with my impending sense of failure.

The two are not unrelated.

Finally, I asked a friend to pray with me, to fast breakfast together, and to encourage one another. He prayed for me, that I would have the strength to complete this most pathetic of tasks.

And I did it.

Not with a conspicuous finish, like that of a victor, sweeping across the finish line, grabbing the trophy before heading to the winner’s platform.

But more like a worm, slithering in the rain, a couple of my worm friends showing me the way.

I didn’t end up praying about world peace, or really anything outside of myself really.

I prayed, “God, help me to be able to fast breakfast this morning!”

And He was very pleased.

Because I realized my need for Him.

Well done, He said, the Father embracing the teen longing for affirmation.

I grew stronger in my understanding of who I am, of my feeble state.

No, I’m not a bold warrior, able to have God bless me so that my superpowers can help solve world crises.

I am pathetic, and barely able to delay my breakfast without His constant help.

And He is pleased with me.

And who will I become, as I rely on God to help me to have the strength to learn to pray?

Demons quiver at the thought.