Wednesday, June 6, 2012


"Mommy," she says, "Mommy..."

"Yes, little lady? What is it?"

She reaches her hand out for me, pulling my palm onto her cheek.  "Mommy."  She holds my hand there, then squirms a little in her seat.

I know this routine well.  "Do you have to go potty?"  I ask.  She shakes her head and squirms again.


"Sweetie, do you have to use the bathroom?" I ask again, already knowing the truth, and what the answer will be.

"No.  No, Mommy."

We settle back, and I watch her closely.  It is not the first time we've had this conversation, and so I wait for the moment when she cannot deny the truth a moment more.

There are times when I feel this way too.  When I know I need something, but I'm not quite sure what.  Or perhaps I don't want to look it in the face just yet.  I find in myself a longing, and I'm looking anxiously, sometimes wistfully, around.  What do I need?  What is the source of my unrest?

And all the while, He is there.  Knowing.  Waiting.  Perhaps even nudging me, ever so gently, in the proper direction.  Ready for me to acknowledge my need and to reach for the help He is so ready to give.  He offers it wordlessly, but until I am ready to take a step, we seem to be at an impasse.

There are times when I don't know how to pray what's in my heart.  In those moments, praise God,
...the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.  And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for God’s people in accordance with the will of God.   
                         ~Romans 8:26-27
There is a Helper.  And as I realize more and more just what it is that I need, I reach out for my Father.  My wise, knowing Father, the one who gives perfectly.  Who knows me inside out.  Whose attentive eyes are always upon me, knowing each need before I know it myself.  Who is ready, and more than able, to fill my empty spaces.

And as I reach out my hands, I hear myself speak the words he's been longing to hear.

"Abba. Father..."