God’s Teenagers

Many of us become stagnant and stuck in the unruly teen years in our relationship with God. I cannot even count the number of times in my life where I have played that part with God, giving Him the silent treatment because I felt like He wasn’t listening, or He was never doing what I asked of Him anyway. It sounds silly and selfish when put that way, but don’t we all go through that at times? We get tired of praying for the same things over and over again, to no avail. It can be infuriating, feeling like a confused teenager again, asking repeatedly for something, without an understanding as to why your parents won’t allow it. 

We can still find ourselves, in our rooms, shutting Him out, blaring our music, wrapped in a confusing variety of emotions because things aren’t turning out the way we wanted.

But He is still there, waiting.

I found myself in just such a position this fall. I had just gotten over a case of MRSA, which was no fun at all, when my back, for about the 3rd time this year, quit on me. It is an area I have prayed for healing many times; more times than I can count. It is an injury my husband, my family, and my church have prayed for, on multiple occasions. I was sick and tired of the pain, and sick and tired of beating my head against the wall with God. I have never asked my doctor for medication, because I don’t even like taking Tylenol, but this time, I was fed up. 

In my moment of “I know best, and God won’t do what I’ve asked anyway,” I finally asked my doctor for something to help with the pain. I was prescribed a muscle relaxer and a pain killer I was assured was NOT a narcotic, only to get to the pharmacy, and receive all the paperwork warning me about this narcotic, and the potential risks of taking it. I didn’t even pray about it. I took them anyway. At least the doctor was helping me, right?

I needn’t have worried about a drug addiction. The medicine made me so sick, that it set my healing back several days. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t get out of bed. My husband had to work. My 3-year old was watching TV downstairs, and I couldn’t even open my eyes. At this point, I finally prayed, simply, please help me get through this day.

There was a knock at the door. These days, people just don’t “stop in” anymore, and especially not at 8:30 in the morning. I couldn’t move, and I couldn’t even open my mouth to yell to my daughter. She knew better than to open the door on her own, so she sat watching TV. My cell phone rang next to me, and I saw that it was a mom from our school, the mother of one of my son’s friends, that I have been slowly getting to know. She was at the door. I answered the phone, and she knew from my voice something was very wrong. I briefly explained, and we talked Charlotte into opening the door. 

This angel from God spent the day cleaning my house, and taking care of my child. Our daughters played, and their laughter and fun carried up the stairs to where I lay, and I knew we were going to be ok. But my pain didn’t yet leave, and my struggle wasn’t yet over. Still knocked off my feet the following day, another friend called; a church friend that at the moment, didn’t know what was going on. She immediately took the afternoon off work and came to take care of my children, feeding them, and providing us all with dinner. The next night our school’s principal arrived with meals and bags full of groceries provided by many of the teachers. 

In my stubbornness, and eagerness to “do things myself,” and in my anger and bitterness with Him, He could have shut me out, the way I was shutting Him out. He could have spitefully turned His back on me and walked away, but He didn’t. He showed mercy and compassion in my time of need. I waited until I was completely out of other options before asking Him for help, and yet He came. He assembled an army around me to get me back on my feet and take care of my family in the process. 

This is a lesson I have had to learn over and over again.