Oh Ye Of Little Faith...

When my children were little I prayed for them when they were sick. For every scraped knee and bumped head, we asked for God's healing. My first goal was to get them to seek God to meet their needs. Secondly, I wanted them to realize that God cared about them and their individual needs, that he wanted them to be whole and healthy. But I also hoped that they would experience first hand that He is our healer and He still performs miracles.

I must admit, sometimes my faith was not as big as that tiny mustard seed. I remember the night we were standing in the grocery store checkout. I had 3 small children with me and I was exhausted. Distracted and not watching, I pushed the cart forward, running into Christina's little 5 year old foot. I felt awful. This has happened to me and it hurts! "I'm sorry," I blurted out. Before I finished speaking, she dropped to the floor, clutched her foot and wailed, "Pray for me! Pray for my foot! You ran it over!" Tears began running down her face.

I'd like to say I immediately ran to her and prayed. I did not. I couldn't leave the baby in the front of the cart while I attended to her. I glanced around. Everyone around me was watching. They could hear her as she began pleading again, "pray for me! Pray for my foot, I think it's bleeding!" Two year old Christopher was already poised beside her ready to pray. The commotion became louder, more heads turned. I'm sure they waited to see what I would do. In a half whisper I choked out, "can Christopher just pray for you?"

"Nooooo, pleeeease, Mom. Praaaay for me." I pulled the baby out of her seat. My cheeks felt hot. All eyes were on me. I could have been a great witness to all of the observers. I wasn't. I knelt beside my daughter, with the baby dangling to one side and said, "can we pray in the car?"

My normally quiet, non-dramatic daughter seemed to be going for an Academy Award. "Noooo, I can't walk on it. Praaaay that it isn't broken! It hurts!" I laid my hand upon her foot, closed my eyes and somewhere between a whisper and hushed voice I prayed, "Lord Jesus, please heal Christina's foot." Her sad eyes looked up as if to say, "that's it? After all the effort it took to get you to pray, that's it???" But she didn't say that. She rubbed her foot, stood up and proclaimed, "I think its feeling better."

I was deeply humiliated. Was I ashamed to let strangers know that as a mother I prayed for my children's owies? I felt like Peter, when he denied he knew the Lord. I found myself apologizing to Christina and Christopher when we got to the car for not having more faith.

I knew in my head, that God heals. I've read the stories of Jesus healing blind men, opening deaf ears, even raising people from the dead. I believed it was right to pray for healing. James tells us to pray for the sick. Friends would share glorious stories of their personal experience of being healed and touched by the Great Physician. I had not witnessed the miraculous. I continued to pray for accidents, sickness and to teach my children to pray.

In the wee hours of the morning, holding a sick baby and rocking in the chair, I'd cry out to the Lord to touch her. I'd ask Him to remove the pain of an ear infection, comfort an upset tummy, lower a fever. There wasn't anything dramatic. But I could rest, knowing that He was in charge and I wasn't. He would watch over my children. It was my job to pray for them.

The funny thing is, I had a hard time praying for myself. I can count on one hand the number of times I was so sick that I actually crawled back in bed in the middle of the day. Then I would lie in bed and pray that my family could survive without me for a few hours. It wasn't that I never got sick. But how does a mother lie in bed with 5 children to care for? It has to be bad. One time it was. I had to ask Michael to come home from work. I knew I wasn't going to make it through the day standing up. After giving him suggestions of what he could do with the little ones and what time the others needed to be picked up from school, I laid down in my bed. It felt weird, but after a bit I began to doze off.

I heard the older kids arrive home from school, still asking what was wrong with mom. Why was she in bed? Was she going to die? Christopher quietly came into my room and stood beside me. I opened my eyes.

"Sorry to disturb you, Mom. I just wanted to say I hope you feel better." Then he did an unexpected thing. He placed his hand upon my forehead and he prayed. He prayed that God would touch me and heal me. Was I filled with faith? No. I worried that he would be disappointed when I didn't immediately arise from the bed healed. I did not want him to be discouraged, but I had no idea how to encourage him. When he finished, I thanked him and he left the room.

In my head I began to question my lack of faith for healing. At the same time, I knew God could work through sickness and pain-but I don't like to suffer. Why didn't He just heal us immediately when we asked? As I lay there wrestling with my thoughts, I noticed something. My head was no longer pounding. I didn't feel feverish or even sleepy. Why was I still lying in bed? I hesitated, then sat up. I didn't feel sick. I felt fine. Out of the bed I came. I went to Christopher and thanked him for praying for me.

In my weakness, God showed Himself strong. And is it possible, that in my weakness, God spoke into the heart of a 2 year old boy? When I asked Christina if her 2 year old brother could pray for her, did God breathe life into those words? Without even realizing it, my words told Christopher that I believed in the power of God to work through him. I'd like to believe God used my lack of faith to build faith. My son's faith, in turn, increased my faith. This is what the body of Christ is all about. We need one another, whether it is a 90 year old lady who prays or a 2 year old boy. God values and cares for us all.