Prayer for Our Children - Amy Charmichael

Father, hear us, we are praying,
Hear the words our hearts are saying,
We are praying for our children.

Keep them from the powers of evil,
From the secret, hidden peril,
From the whirlpool that would suck them,
From the treacherous quicksand, pluck them.

From the worldling’s hollow gladness,
From the sting of faithless sadness,
Holy Father, save our children.

Through life’s troubled waters steer them,
Through life’s bitter battle cheer them,
Father, Father, be Thou near them.
Read the language of our longing,
Read the wordless pleadings thronging,
Holy Father, for our children.

And wherever they may bide,
Lead them Home at eventide.

From “Toward Jerusalem” by Amy Carmichael

Loving Another Child & His Mama

His mama drops him off bright and early. Sometimes he’s wearing a smile, sometimes he’s got his I’m-not-sure-yet face on. He surveys the area, sees his two friends, and starts to get comfortable. Soon they’re all bouncing around, throwing the frisbee and playing with the dogs.

We all hang out regularly. My mind always wanders. He’s safe, I’m pretty sure, and his mama tries hard. I don’t know her well at all, but I’d like to. She loves horses and is in a tricky spot. That’s about all I know. (And even if I knew more, ya’ll know it wouldn’t be coming on social media.)

What are her hopes? What are her dreams? What does she see in this life?

Her little boy sits with us at the table and shares snacks. All three boys climb up to watch the mac n cheese cook, in denial that the process could take more than 30 seconds. I watch dirty hands grab their cups, the eyes glancing at each other and the giggling amplifying in the kitchen. I am so grateful he joins in the laughter and is comfortable - it took some time to get here.

We play, break for lunch and a nap, then resume. They blow bubbles and scoop woodchips and race cars in circles around the house. The meltdowns come and go.

When she’s done with work she picks him up and I wish we had more time. More time to chat, time for her to relax a little. Sometimes I wish she could spend an evening having dinner with us, so she could see her boy in this environment. Maybe she'd see that Jesus can give so much joy to a household, even in the rough times. I wish I could get to know her, we might be friends.

But for now, I’ll just keep loving her little boy whenever I have the chance.

——————

For all you mamas taking care of someone else’s baby/babies, keep on keeping on. Whether you know their family well or not, whether they come from stability or instability - your love in the time you have matters. The kiddos know it! Love them like you love your own. And love their parents as well. ❤️

Written by Amy Parsons

If These Stairs Could Talk

If these stairs could talk, they’d tell you of many things.

The friends and family who visited when we first moved in, sharing in thanks for more space.

The weight carried up and down, things moved from one place to another.

The tears cried on them, many from the kids and many from myself.

The coffee spilled on them, hurriedly wiped up so the white wouldn’t be stained.

The babies carried up to bed, or snuggled in close and brought downstairs to try again.

The moments I’ve sat in the middle, waiting for quiet to come over the bedrooms.

The moments I’ve sat on the bottom, weary, waiting, resting.

The guests running up to use the bathroom, or grab their sneaky babies.

The kids’ friends scampering up and down to play together.

The toys thrown down, the balls thrown up and down and up again.

The times I’ve sat and listened to videos or read texts from dear friends.

The one stair at just the right height to let me sit and watch cars come down our street.

They’re not an idol, these stairs: they’re a reminder.

A means of giving thanks.

Because when I look back at all the memories and daily happenings, I am reminded:

• God provides: for all our needs, all the time

• Our babies are safe and loved

• Our friends and family are welcome and comfortable here

• We live this life fully

We always have enough. We always can extend more, and when we serve out of humility and love for our Lord it never comes back empty. He fills us up. He shows Himself to us and He teaches us what we need to know, when we need to know it. He is so incredibly sufficient!

If these stairs could talk, I think they’d tell of what a great Savior we have. What a hope we have in Him, what care we have from Him.

What a sweet, sweet place to be.

I Can't Keep Going Like This

Is it me or has the struggle been even more real lately?

Every where I turn someone’s marriage is shattered. Not struggling. I mean shattered.

Or someone’s child committed suicide.

The diagnosis was too much.

Our whole city is on fire. Literally.

Someone’s mama passed suddenly.

That wife is walking along side her husband as he suffers an illness.

There’s so much heavy my shoulders are just about too heavy for me to hold up.

The truth is, my shoulders have no business hanging on to those hurts.

The problem is I can’t seem to shove those burdens off. I hand them over to Jesus on Monday, but by the time Wednesday has rolled around I’m right back where I’ve started.

I made eye contact with those hurting, and I’ve heaped those hurts right back where they don’t belong.

Am I the only one who does this?

I work as an advocate for girls who have been trafficked or who are at risk of it. I was talking with someone recently about it and it occurred to me I’ve lived most of my life as an advocate in someway. All the way back to first grade when the shortest little boy in my class, Randy Bell, was being picked on. We don’t need to go into details, but let’s just say between my older brother holding the bully by the arms I was able to get in a few good punches. I handled it.

It think this is where my real struggle is. I keep trying to handle it. When others hurt, I went to jump in and help. To advocate. To give them the voice I’ve rarely struggled to find. Who wouldn’t jump in to help? That’s crazy. But there’s a big difference between a brother/sister elementary school gang teaching a bully a lesson and me insisting on carrying everyone’s burdens.

Because that feels a little more like I’m not trusting God to handle you. It’s as if I’m saying, “Lord, you don’t seem to be handling this. But don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

Do you think the angels sit around and giggle at us when we’re crazy? Like we laugh at our toddlers when they attempt to pick us up or climb the front of the refrigerator? Probably. I would. I imagine them tossing out a good-hearted chortle every time I try to take someone’s hurts on as my own. So here’s my new plan.

It’s not new really. It’s old. Or it’s the same. I’m going to do what Jesus asked his disciples to do in the garden. Just pray. He just asked them to pray. And when freedom comes, I’m going to rejoice. But until then, I’m going to pray. But maybe I could still wear a cape while doing it?

So let’s have it. How can I pray for you today?

Written for Strength & Song by Shontell Brewer.