More Conversations With Godഉദാഹരണം

The Prayer That Must Have Truth

The Perspective of Love

Richard and I were attending a long-awaited national parenting conference in Tulsa. As part of the leadership team, we were in charge of setting out boxed lunches, manning the prayer room, and assisting guest speakers. Between these responsibilities we attended the sessions. 

In the past, rich conferences like this had stockpiled my parenting pantry for months, and goodness knows I needed the wisdom—2012 had been a difficult year for the Ekhoff family. But the teaching and fellowship that had so often developed and thrilled me now seemed burdensome, even torturous. Duty was the only thing that kept me in the building.

At one point, I had just been seated for a breakout session when I realized I couldn’t possibly stay. Anxiety was escalating to such a degree that I felt compelled to rush from the room. Suppressing tears, I was hastily gathering my belongings to make an escape before the speaker reached the podium. As if on cue, the young mother in front of me lifted a fussy infant from his carrier, and I offered to walk him just outside the room. Closing the door quietly behind me was sweet relief. 

After ducking and flinching all weekend, we were finally able to pack up, shake hands all around, and go home. The ordeal was over, but I knew that the Lord had uncovered an abscess in my soul. 

 

In the days following the conference, I resolutely made an about-face and marched myself back through my memories of meetings and tasks, searching for the places where the most emotional pain was secreted. Along with the near anxiety attack in the breakout session, I remembered meeting a group of eager young parents just leaving lunch when I’d felt the uncharacteristic desire to hide until they had passed. I had resented most of the teaching. I had even sidestepped my closest friends.

By choosing to revisit the pain of these experiences, I was finally able to name the driving emotion. The truth was that I’d been embarrassed, even ashamed to attend the conference, which led to a second question: What was I thinking or believing that made me ashamed to attend a seminar at the center of my ministry calling? Why couldn’t I face my dearest friends? After some soul searching, I was able to articulate a statement that sounded completely true.

I am disqualified.

Oh, how it hurt to admit that. All my parenting pain surfaced to mock me. Most days, I was doing home things well, but deep down, I knew I was not the mother I should be. I wondered if I ever had been. Who was I to attend a conference with really good parents? Who was I to serve in a parenting ministry at all? I was a fake. Believing that I was “disqualified” seemed validated by my concrete personal experience. It felt true even though I sensed deep down that it must be an untruth.

I now understood that beneath my super-parent facade, I had worn a badly bruised soul to the conference, and the themes and group dynamics had mercilessly prodded my hidden wounds. It helped to know why I’d felt like running, but this was only half of the journey to my healing. Unless the belief (which was really a lie) was countered by the power of truth, it would surely return in similar circumstances. So holding the belief “I am disqualified” before the Lord—who is Truth—I asked for His perspective. “Lord, what is the truth about my parenting? Am I disqualified? What do you want me to know about that?” 

He didn’t speak in that moment, so I waited expectantly, knowing He would speak when it pleased Him. Over the next weeks, I often repeated this prayer, sometimes raising my cupped hand into the air as a symbol of lifting the belief for His dictum. “Lord, I say I’m disqualified—what do You say?” One morning He spoke, and what He said made all the difference, both then and now. 

Now, I’m a tea person. To me, steaming tea in a pretty mug is fortification and ambiance. I start most days with a mugful for good measure. On this midsummer morning, I had a few sprigs of mint from my herb garden in a vase on the counter and fresh lemons in the fridge. For a special treat, I tweaked two or three mint leaves from a stem in the vase, crushed the leaves between my fingers, and added them to my cup, followed by a spritz of lemon. Then I held my minty, lemony fingers to my nose and drew a deep, deep breath. That fragrance should be bottled and marketed with the title “The First Day of Summer Vacation” —it’s that intoxicating. Sipping my tea like ambrosia, I headed to the breakfast table. 

Suddenly, I remembered the question I was holding before the Lord. Placing my mug on the table, I earnestly repeated the prayer again. “Lord, I say that I’m disqualified. What do You say?” His answer came with quiet authority, taking me by surprise. 

“You are not disqualified. You are fragrant!”

You can imagine that the word “fragrant” made an explicit impression as the fragrant tea was still before me. 

“I—am—fragrant?”

I stood transfixed, wondering what He could mean. Then the Lord gave the interpretation: “Your parenting pressure has bruised you in the same way you bruised the mint leaves and lemon slice, but it has released something lovely—fragrance.” 

As this truth registered, the old rags of my humiliating belief were surpassed by the splendor of God’s perspective. I was shocked—then thankful—then humbled—then awed. Like a virtual Cinderella, I could hardly grasp that I was the same person I’d been the moment before. Immersed in my Father’s favor, I could no longer believe I was disqualified. It was impossible to believe anything but the truth He had just revealed. His peace spread out and took up residence.

Patiently, He brought me to His perspective. “Dear one, remember the cross. When Jesus was crushed for your transgressions and bruised for your iniquities, His sacrifice pleased Me for His sake and yours. Suffering couldn’t disqualify Him; it made Him a fragrant offering.” So my parental suffering and sacrifices had been a fragrant love offering to my family and the Lord!

The revelation of God’s truth is a process. Over the years, the Lord has healed many of my painful memories and emotions with His surprising perspective. The prayer that must have truth is the conversation that gives God permission to supersede our tainted beliefs. The perspective of Love has the power to set us free, and Love is a Person. Hallelujah!

The information on this day of our plan is based on the writing and teaching of Dr. Edward Smith. Many thanks, Dr. Smith.