Elisabeth Adams

On Monday, when I often add a new post, I was pondering something instead.

Think back a moment to your childhood. Were you the kind of kid who waited and hoped your parents might serve that ice cream tonight, might take you swimming, might suggest it was time for the ballet lessons you secretly longed for? Or were you the kind of kid who asked?

My sister asked — and made out like a bandit. She got the ice cream for herself, and often some for the rest of us, too! I’m not sure why, but I think I hated the word no so much that often I didn’t ask. Sometimes my parents noticed me hanging back and looking wistful, and I got what I wanted. But sometimes I just plain missed out.

As an adult, it’s easier to imagine myself in their shoes. Would I want my child to put so little faith in my desire to give? Wouldn’t I grieve if my child couldn’t simply put his hand on my knee, look up with big eyes and say, “Mama, please give me some bread”?

But sometimes that’s what I do to God.

How grieved He must be that His “No, dear child” is so big in my mind, and His love so very small. Have I painted Him as the parent who gives a snake for the asked-for fish, and for the asked-for loaf, a stone —

Can’t I trust Him at all?

Here’s the deal: I only have one life to live. This is the only time I’ll be here in this year, in this trouble, in this joy, in this season. If I’m going to ask for all I long for, then NOW is the time.

When I look back, I want to know: At least I asked. I let Him choose — and not my fear.

As reckless as it feels, I want to ask!

To  trust His “Yes” — and His “No” — to be the loaf, and not the stone.

How ’bout you?

{fast.pray}
{Why Pray?}