prayer

IT STILL HURTS

/ jessicaivaska / 6 Comments

Erik and I have a very sweet 12-year-old in our lives who we love. This year she got braces. Now I never had braces, by my older sister did, so I know a little about them — and living with people who have them.
 
There are restrictions on what you can eat.
You have to floss your teeth with a special tool.
And every few weeks the braces are tightened or a thicker wire is put in.
 
There’s pain in the process. How could there not be? The braces are designed to reform your entire mouth. It’s done slowly, I assume in part of minimize pain, but still, the pain is there, and after the last appointment, the sweet 12-year-old was not happy.
 
Ice cream wouldn’t help.
Shopping couldn’t take the ache away.
She had to just sit with it.
 
In the midst of her pain, her dad texted Erik and I and told us she wasn’t feeling well and was quite uncomfortable. So we did the only thing we could think to do. We prayed.
 
Afterward, we texted her dad back to tell him we’d prayed for her, and he passed the message on to her. About two minutes later, both Erik’s and my phones buzzed.
 
“I told her you prayed for her,” her dad wrote. “She said, ‘Well, I don’t feel any better!”
 
We burst out laughing. The text message emojis flying back and forth on the group chat.
 
But as I laughed, I also felt a little jealous. Not of her pain, but of her ability to say how she truly felt, without pretense, and presumably without fear of what we thought of her response.
 
I think God wants the same kind of relationship with us. He wants us to feel loved enough and safe enough to tell him how we feel. How we really feel. Without lofty words, without unnecessary fluff. After all, in Matthew 6:7-8, Jesus tells us as much.
 
“And when you pray, do not keep on babbling like pagans, for they think they will be heard because of their many words. Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him.” (NIV)
 
God knows what I need.
He knows what you need.
He knows what that sweet little 12-year-old needs.
 
He doesn’t need us to come to Him with eloquent essays or a list of arguments as to why He should answer our prayer. Instead, He wants us to just come to Him and tell him how we feel. And that means at times, “But Lord, it still hurts!” is the truest and most beautiful prayer I — or you — could ever pray.

EIGHT

/ jessicaivaska / 6 Comments

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Eight years ago I did something I didn’t know I could do.

I ran. A half marathon.

I had looked up to distance runners for a long time, admiring them for their strength and perseverance. But I didn’t ever think I’d be in that category.

Then, with two of my best friends by my side, I signed up. I had only ever done two road races:

  1. I had walked (yes, walked) a half marathon. (I’ve never been so sore!)
  2. I’d run a 5k

The half marathon had been in November. Four months earlier. And now I was setting out to run that same distance. I was nervous.

We got there early, not wanting to miss anything. The extra time added to our nerves, but it also gave us time to bow our heads and pray, reminding us of the bigger picture of racing and life in general.

And so, the gun went off, and so did I. As the wet miles of Mercer Island passed by, I realized I could do it. I was going to make it.

At the finish line I was flooded by mix of emotions. Pride, gratitude, excitement, accomplishment.

Then something else set in. The bug.

I knew I wanted to do it again.

Eight months later, with one of those same friends by my side, I ran the full Seattle Marathon.

I never would have guessed that I’d keep running all these years. I never would have guessed that that one race was the start of something big in my life. And that’s the thing, you never quite know when you’re at a turning point.

By God’s grace it just happens — sometimes when you least expect it.

I’m not fast, nor will I ever be, because in running — like in life — it’s not how fast you get to the end that matters. It’s what you learn along the way.

Running has given me a lot over the years: time with God, time with friends, time in creation. It’s helped me push myself, it’s broken me, it’s shown me how incredible the human body is. And so as hard as it is, I keep at it.

Today I had planned to go out for a four-mile run, but a friend wanted to go further, so we did.

Over eight miles. Today, in celebration, that feels like just the right distance.

TIGHT PANTS

/ jessicaivaska / 4 Comments

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Several years ago, I met one of my closest friends for coffee. As we sat outside to take advantage of the rare Seattle spring sun, she looked at me with eyes that said she knew I was hiding something.

“What’s wrong?” She asked gently.

“My pants are tight.” I replied.

I’m not going to debate whether or not I should have let my pants fitting too tightly have such an impact on my day. I’m just going to tell you that’s where I was at.

I allowed the pants that used to slip on smoothly and be a little loose ruin my day because now, they were tight.

Then she said it. Words I was shocked by.

“I’m going to pray they never fit again.”

“What?” I had to be hearing things. What kind of friend would say that? I wanted to scream out “NO! Don’t pray for that!” Like it was the worst possible prayer in the world.

But then, she told explained herself. She knew my heart. She knew that if I kept putting my hope in my pants, and my pants suddenly fit again, I’d have less need for Jesus. It was a control thing for me and she knew it. In that moment she could see that I was distracted and my hope was grounded not in Him, but in myself and who I could make myself become.

I’ll admit, I still wanted my pants to fit better, but I realized she was onto something.

If I keep putting my hope in other things, I won’t fully give my heart and my life to Jesus. This works for just about everything in life. Jobs. Marriage. Friendships. A new house. Even your church. If we put our hope in anything other than Jesus, we’re going to be disappointed.

To this day, my friend’s words are some of the most unexpected and loving words I’ve heard. I still struggle with that twinge of despair when I pull on a pair or jeans that fits a little too tight, but I have friends and an amazing husband to remind me that my hope isn’t in a pile of denim. It’s in the God of the universe.