A Beggar But Not Beggarly

On the early morning after we celebrated my son Tim’s 10th birthday the night before, I found myself begging before God as at other times. Only this time, my silent cries seemed to resound from my corner of this earth to the splendors of heaven. And although the past days I wanted to be still and quiet as I waited on Him, this time, I couldn’t be thwarted in my begging over and over.

This is an image I got from Google. There was no time to paint the theme because my Tim birthdayed).

This is an image I got from Google. There was no time to paint the theme because my Tim birthdayed).

If I will live and remain here (which is my primary prayer), there must be another – and much better – way to live than spending most hours of everyday in bed and feeling unwell and weak and suffering. There must be an escape from the fears brought about by one’s sickness, inadequacy, and incapacity. Fears that show themselves as nervousness, anxiety and panic attacks that drive the heart to beating so fast and the breathing haywire. (This happens when I get worried about a loved one’s safety or the like).

There must be a deliverance from this kind of harsh suffering.

And there must be a doorway through which the bright sunshine of tomorrow can pass in all its radiance. When kids go away for a time for leadership camps or when they represent the school in global leadership conferences in another country – there must be joy and rejoicing and celebrations of victory, and not a whirlwind of fears and worries of how on earth a sick mother would be able to handle it all?

Or how would the same mother stanch the desire of being able to go away at last with family this Christmas season? How would she block the thoughts that come unbidden, of evergreens and cozy lodges away in the mountains and the incandescent faces of family, for at last they have gone away, especially that of the kid who has lived a decade on earth and still has not experienced a family getaway with his beloved mom with them?

How can a mother just steel her heart and not feel or think or dream of any of those things?

<Whisper> Dreaming for me has become a painful thing.

So I beg. I beg for a miracle. I beg for healing. I beg to be released. I beg to be raised up. I beg to be enabled.

I am a beggar before God. This is the best position I can take in my situation.

Aren’t we all beggars before Him in one way or another? Haven’t we all been Bartimaeus at one time or another? Or the Canaanite woman? Or Jairus?

And behold, there came a man named Jairus, and he was a ruler of the synagogue. And he fell down at Jesus’ feet and begged Him to come to his house, 42 for he had an only daughter about twelve years of age, and she was dying… (Luke 8:41-42, emphasis mine)

Aren’t we beggars all?

I ache to understand this: Why, after the Lord Jesus promised, that when we seek, we shall find; when we knock, the door will be opened to us; when we ask, it will be given to us – the thing that is most sought after is not found, the door is not opening, and the thing most fervently asked is not received?

I ache to know the answer to this: Why, after the Lord Jesus promised that If [we] can believe, all things are possible to him who believes – that one very important thing we are believing in is not becoming possible?

So, we cry and continue to cry, “Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief!” (Mark 9:24)

We are beggars before God in prayer but not beggarly. For we are heirs of eternal life. And whether now or then we might receive answers to our deepest prayers, the Lord Jesus Christ should be enough. And He will give us peace and joy for the journey.

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Run to the Well

I open my Bible to Psalm 145 after a whole-day Sunday worship service. There shouldn’t have been a need for it considering that I’ve just been to church, but all day, and all week for that matter, I had waited for a touch or inspiration from the Lord, but until this Sunday afternoon, I remain – untouched, uninspired. All day as I watched the live streaming of our church’s worship service alone in the bedroom, I felt like I was barely getting by. I couldn’t immerse my whole heart and mind into it. Maybe it’s because of my back and abdomen that were making me breathe through the mouth. Or maybe I’ve just become…dry.

Run to the Well

So, here I am with my journaling Bible opened to Psalm 145 with my glittery pens and colorful highlighters. I’m running to the well. I am going to glean bits of fallen barley stalks. I may not be like those harvesters that gather the barley in armloads, but I can be Ruth who picks up after them, what they have left behind. It feels like that for me. Gleaning is hard work and at the end of the day, we only have as much barley as a rectangle of cloth can accommodate. But Ruth went for it day after day, and she and Naomi never got hungry.

Sometimes we feel that God is distant (or maybe it’s the other way around?). I have been begging Him to enable me to travel. I have a renewed desire to pursue this petition relentlessly. I believe that traveling would definitely bring a fresh change into my life. But that isn’t happening.

I couldn’t feel Him through Sunday worship and I think that another prayer (with me not really into it) won’t make a difference. There is a need to run to the well.

If we are thirsty, we need only to draw near the well and drink.

I begin to read Psalm 145 and I marvel at David’s outpouring of praise and worship. It’s like a shimmering rain of gold dust from heaven itself. I am not feeling what David was feeling. But I forge on. I am journeying through God’s truth.

I know what Psalm 145 says.

The Lord is gracious and full of compassion,
Slow to anger and great in mercy.

I have often put these words beside what I experience everyday and there has been a gnawing, painful question in my heart of the difference between these words and my daily experience of sickness and suffering and not being able to walk, do things, and travel. 

I ponder on the Shepherd and what the Bible tells about Him: Going through all the villages and healing all manners of sickness and disease. And there is something I definitely do not understand.

And maybe this has put a distance between me and the Lord Jesus in my heart. Still, I do my best to follow Him closely and love Him fervently.

I read and reread Psalm 145. I write my gleanings beside it. I even make them elaborate by putting them in boxes and drawing flowers around.

The Lord is gracious and full of compassion,
Slow to anger and great in mercy.
The Lord is good to all,
And His tender mercies are over all His works.

You open Your hand
And satisfy the desire of every living thing.

He will fulfill the desire of those who fear Him.

(Selections from Ps. 145).

Nothing amazing happens. But I close my Bible with a somewhat satisfied heart. I continue to sit in quiet like Mary at the feet of Jesus. So, I continue to wait. Two mornings later, He leads me to Ephesians 3.

that you, being rooted and grounded in love, 18 may be able to comprehend with all the saints what is the width and length and depth and height— 19 to know the love of Christ which passes knowledge; that you may be filled with all the fullness of God. (Eph. 3:16-19, emphasis added)

There is a need to grow my roots deeper. To drink more often from the Well.

But can I ever begin to comprehend the boundless love of Christ? I believe that it would take eternity to do so? I sure would like to know the love of Christ translated into comfort and peace and warmth and joy in my heart; translated into health and healing and rest in my body.

I sure would like to know this love that passes knowledge translated into dreams and prayers turning into reality and testimony.

So, I keep quiet and wait. I wait for Him at the well: here in His Word. Even when I reenter the flurry of daily life, I will be waiting for the Lord’s touch and movement in my life.

To wait with an expectant and restful heart is blessing enough.

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