Cry out

At the end of our children’s ministry team meeting last night, our director asked what our prayer requests were. 

Probably because it was 9:02 and I was already tapping my watch, several of us didn’t offer anything.

So she prayed for us anyway, saying, “God, You know their needs; You know what they’re crying out to You for.”

On the way home I thought, what am I crying out to God for?

Answer: my kids. 

Whoever it was who said that having a child is like having your heart walking around outside your body was right. And it doesn’t have an age limit. You gasp and clutch your heart when your toddler teeters on the top level of the playground, and your aging heart still aches when they’re thirteen or fifteen or eighteen and you hope they’re going to turn out all right, with healthy minds and bodies and unbroken hearts and God-honoring character.

Maybe the only end is when they marry Maddie and you know her worrying will take up right where yours left off.

Other than worrying about my three kids who aren’t married to Maddie, my other pain point right now is driving to all the things.

But I realized, while driving home, that I’m not actually crying out to God about that, even though I struggle every day to trust Him and respond to the family’s daily needs in a godly way.

Why? 

Because I feel unjustified in my dislike of driving (Some people have to drive even farther! Soccer/volleyball/Bible study/friends are good for the kids! I have a healthy body and a reliable car that is able to drive! There are starving children in Africa!). 

Because my kids say, “Why are you tired? You didn’t play volleyball.” And I think Yeah why am I even tired? What’s wrong with me? 

So I feel like I shouldn’t resent driving, in fact I should be happy about driving, that driving should be life-giving to me and add every moment to my serenity and soul’s fulfillment. I should desire nothing more than driving my God-given children in our God-given car to our God-given activities.

And I habitually squelch and deny any contrary sentiments that rear up in my heart, rather than cry out to God about them.

Because everyone cries out to God for their kids, right? Probably even atheists on occasion.

But who cries out for grace to execute a privilege that they’re secretly ashamed is exhausting to them?