When I was growing up, my parents had some rules for me and at least some of my six siblings about learning how to drive.
We had to take driver’s ed before we could drive, and we had to be 16 before we could take driver’s ed. As a result, I didn’t start driving until just before my junior year of high school, a year later than many of my friends.
I get a little antsy when an answer I am expecting takes longer than expected to arrive. OK, maybe antsy isn’t quite the right adjective. Anxious, irritable, practically beside myself with frustration—that’s more like it.
Recently, I found myself in the unfortunate situation where I was waiting for two responses—one pertaining to a health insurance issue I was trying to untangle for my parents and the other related to a freelance editing project I was working on.
The longer the delay, the more frustrated I became, until I wanted to bang my head against a brick wall in frustration. It wasn’t pretty, let me tell you.
These two issues were resolved eventually (as I knew they would be), and my stress level went down considerably as a result. But my reaction got me thinking about how this relates to prayer, and—more specifically—to heartfelt, pressing prayers that seem to go unanswered.
You know what I’m talking about, right?—those requests that you faithfully take to God day after day and month after month, with no apparent result or even any indication that He is actually listening.
It’s not like you’re asking Him to do something beyond the realm of His control. He’s omnipotent, after all. He simply has to speak the word and whatever it is that you’re asking Him to do will happen.
But when He doesn’t—for reasons known only to Him—it gets to be a bit much after awhile, doesn’t it? Maybe even to the point where giving up—on praying and even on God Himself—might seem like the most logical course of action.
The best plan isn’t always the most logical one, of course. I can’t tell you how or why God does what He does, but when answers to pressing prayer needs are not forthcoming, the following four steps might help you move forward.
• Focus on God’s character.
Who God is does not change with our feelings or our circumstances. So try to turn your attention away from the notion that your prayer isn’t being answered and center it directly on what you know to be true about God—His character, His sovereignty, His love for you.
You wouldn’t let a child you love experience something painful—something that was within your power to change—if you didn’t have a good reason for it, would you? Nor does our perfect and wise heavenly Father allow hard things to happen our lives if He doesn’t have a reason for them. There is always purpose, even if we can’t see it.
• Look for answers in other areas.
Just recently, while devoting a lot of energy to praying for the trial that was most current and urgent, I started noticing some obvious answers about a few issues that I have quietly prayed about for years. It was almost a relief to see evidence of the fact that, while my heart was consumed with one situation, God had been working in others all along.
• Count your blessings.
I know. There’s nothing new about this one. But when you intentionally look for something—anything—that you are thankful for, you’re sure to find it. Finding one blessing makes you notice another, until you gradually start seeing God’s touches everywhere. (And if you record them in a journal or on your phone, you’ll have examples of His faithfulness at your fingertips when your faith starts to waver.)
• Keep praying.
Resist the temptation to give God the silent treatment, even if it feels like He’s giving it to you. Keep the lines of communication open and the words flowing. And, as hard as it might be, don’t limit your conversation with him to that One Big Request.
Maybe the delay will make sense to you someday; maybe it never will. In either case, you can rest in the confidence that the One who holds the answer hears every prayer and loves you with an everlasting love.
♥ Lois
Who God is does not change with our feelings or our circumstances. Share on XP.S. I’m linking up this week with #RaRaLinkup, #TellHisStory, Coffee for Your Heart, Chasing Community, #HeartEncourgement and Grace & Truth.
Today’s post first appeared about 18 months ago, as part of a series on my friend Bethany’s blog. It’s about the end of a writing dream, but it also could apply to any situation in which God seems to close a door with a resounding bang. My prayer is that this little chapter from my life will encourage you in some way, especially if you are struggling to accept an outcome you weren’t expecting.
When I was in my early 30s, I wrote a book about infertility. I worked on it during the long months after my husband and I ended our three-year effort to conceive and before we adopted our first daughter from China.
There are good days and there are bad days, aren’t there? I admit, my worst day probably looks better than the best day of many in the world. But stresses and pressures and heartaches and annoyances can pile up, can’t they? When they do, it’s sometimes hard to breathe, sometimes hard to put one foot in front of the other.
It’s been an exhausting season, for many reasons. The weight is lighter now, but one day when it felt especially suffocating, I could hardly wait to get downstairs in the morning and pour it all out in my prayer journal.
Hey there, you with the pinched brow and tired eyes. Yeah, I’m talking to you, but honestly? I’m also talking to myself.
It’s been a tough season, hasn’t it? I don’t know your specifics, and maybe you don’t know mine. But the effect those circumstances are having on your heart, body and mind? I think I can make some educated guesses, and here’s what I want to say about it.
Don’t equate how you feel today with your worth, your usefulness, your attractiveness or your future fruit-bearing potential.
Contrary to what seems very real right now, you are not your feelings. You are not your season. You are not your trial.
Yes, you might consumed by it, tired of it, overwhelmed by it, possibly even angry at it. That’s the blunt, current truth.
But let me also tell you this. It will not always be the way it is right now.
It may seem to you (and your loved ones) that your hard thing is all you ever talk about—all you ever think about—and maybe you are right. A day will come, though, when that is not the case.
Your circumstances may not change, but your perspective will. Ask anyone who has suffered great loss. The pain, the sadness and the scars may never fade completely, but life does go on.
Other parts start to fill in. The joy comes back, even.
Then along comes another trial, maybe even harder than the last. The coping muscles that you developed last time will help some, but you will grow more—perhaps in places you didn’t even know strength could exist.
This process—let’s call it the circle of faith—is spelled out in Romans 5:3-4: “Affliction produces endurance, endurance produces proven character, and proven character produces hope.”
God is still in the business of redemption, my friend, and your life is not exempt from His promises.
Hold on to that truth today. And maybe take a nap if you get the chance.
♥ Lois
God is still in the business of redemption, and your life is not exempt from His promises. Share on XThis has been a summer for the books. And by that, I mean actual books.
Our unexpected summer included one familiar tradition—visiting Randy’s parents in North Dakota in early August. Here, we’re relaxing before bed in their cozy guest quarters.
As in, if I ever write another book, what I’ve been learning these past few months will permeate the pages in ways I can’t even imagine right now.
When the summer began, my mom was living at home with my dad. Now—following a bad accident, a few weeks in the hospital, a couple of surgeries and almost two months of rehab—she lives at a long-term care center about 10 minutes from my house. (See here for a bit more on all that.)
There’s much more to the story, of course, and I have a feeling it will take a long while to process it all. For now, though, here are a few lessons I’ve already gleaned from this season none of us were expecting.
• God’s peace is real.
Apart from that, I can’t explain the calmness I felt during some very intense situations this summer. By my mom’s bedside, in meeting rooms full of highly trained medical professionals, waiting for surgical teams to do their work, driving home after an exhausting day at the hospital—the peace that surpasses all understanding was guarding my heart and mind in a way I’ve never experienced before.
• God’s healing power is real.
The doctors said my mom might never walk again, that she might only eat regular food again in small doses—maybe even just for pleasure. Now, she can walk short distances with assistance, and she eats normally, without the feeding tube. Less than a month after she left the hospital, a physician’s assistant described her progress as “really remarkable healing.” My response (then and now): “There have been a lot of people praying for her.”
• You stop worrying about making the most of teachable moments when all of life becomes a teachable moment.
I don’t know about you, but as a mom, I always feel a certain amount of pressure to make sure everything is covered when it comes to spiritual guidance and teaching my children to look at life through the lens of the long view. I rarely achieve this goal, but I feel the urgency.
This summer, though? Not so much.
For the last several months, my girls have had front-row seats as I’ve struggled to figure out how to help when someone you love is in crisis. I haven’t always been the best example, but along the way, I think we’ve all learned some lessons about how to love, how to communicate, how to be patient and maybe even how to trust God.
• There’s comfort in order.
I didn’t always have the energy this summer to maintain my house like I usually do. But I did find a certain amount of satisfaction—perhaps even peace?—in things like an empty dish drainer, a made bed, a clean bathtub and cleared-off countertops. And who knew picking hedge apples up off your patio after a big wind storm or cleaning a dust-caked ceiling fan could be so rewarding?
• “How is your mom?” is not a question I can answer honestly in a few words.
This isn’t so much a lesson as it is a realization, one that has opened up a Pandora’s box of other questions—about myself, my mom, other people, where we now find ourselves—that I don’t want to think about right now. (Plus, I think some pondering is best done in a prayer journal, rather than in a blog post.)
• Love is a gift that grows as it’s given.
I’ve felt this paradox unfold in my own heart over the last several months. Even better, though, is watching it play out as my girls interact with their grandma—kindly, gently and without complaining. They’re pretty awesome, those two.
That’s a bit of what I learned this summer. How about you?
♥ Lois
Love is a gift that grows as it’s given. Share on XWeekly blog linkups:
