Desiring Faith

If you read the Bible at all you know the concept as laid out in Matt. 19:14. It's an oft touted concept ... the faith of a child.

It's a faith so simple that anything is possible. It's the adult in us, the life experiences that we live through (how else do you get experience?) and really, the fact that we try to reason in our own minds that creates a more complex faith. Our emotions lie to us. Our thoughts betray us. We believe one way and we might not see the answer because the way God answered isn't how we perceived the end result.

Which ... that goes back to our thoughts and emotions getting the better of us.

The last few days, in living through an emotional time here in the Laundry Pile, I've been contemplating the faith of my children.

Do we sit around and have devotionals every morning?? Nope. I can't even claim that we do them weekly.

Heck. I don't remember the last time I picked up a devotional.

However, we talk about God. We experience God. We worship God.  Those tangible things have been building in my children a faith that I am envious to have for myself.

I can take no credit. It is not something taught. It has all been learned.

During this past month, I have struggled with my writing. I've struggled with my self-perceptions and self-image. I have struggled through thoughts that seemed slippery and un-tamable.

Through it all, I've been looking for that weapon to use to fight back. I know what God says. But I needed something tangible for NOW. Not something I could flippantly spout off...I knew that wasn't going to work. As I hunted for this weapon, I pondered the faith of my children.

I fell in the shower. It was a weird thing. I fell and hurt my back against that thing that I think is supposed to be a seat. Or a shelf. If it had been sharp or even square-edged, I'd probably have cut myself or done some serious damage. I *FELT* how it hit. It took me a second to find my footing and get up. I'm a bit cumbersome. Especially when slippery.

Mini-E came up to me after I emerged from the shower. She'd heard the noise and wanted to check on me. By the way, she's five now. I told her that I'd fallen and I hit my back. She asked if she could pray for my body - and not one to miss the opportunity of a moment with Holy Spirit, I said yes. She pressed several tiny fingers against the exact spot I hit in the shower and prayed for me. "Jesus, please heal mommy's body." It was that simple and that sincere. It touched my heart. (Where two or  more are gathered and all that.)

I want that sort of faith. Where my FIRST response is to speak God's power.

Last year, I submitted my first manuscript to an agent. His automated e-mail told me that it would be up to a year before I heard from him, depending on his work load. Fine. I waited. Somewhere in the middle of that time, someone asked if they could read the story. So I sent it to them. They could not open the same file. I didn't think much of it - thought the systems weren't compatible. But it niggled in the back of my mind. So I finally tried to open the file to discover I had sent the agent a corrupted file. Somewhere in the conversion from one software to another, the file was corrupted and unreadable. The agent never let me know. I suppose, he just didn't want to waste his time on it. That's fine. I decided he probably wasn't going to do me much good, anyway.

The point of it all was, and still is, the children.

"Mom, have you heard from your agent?"

"YOUR" agent.

Not 'the' agent.

These children have been a constant encouragement to me as a person. ... as a waiting writer. I want that kind of faith. I'm still searching for an agent - and they're still encouraging me.

--- several people have prophesied into our lives on three different occasions. Separate occasions that God will provide a bigger house for us. Which is excellent. We need a bit more elbow room. (I hope it's not contingent on finding an agent!) (God doesn't need an agent.) (I love that about Him)

We were talking about it one day. Mini-Me overheard The Professor and me talking about moving. It bothers her. She's not so sure she's a fan of change. Except monetary. So we talked about how God promised a bigger house. (I wouldn't have told them... if I didn't trust the sources). J-man was first. He disappeared and came back with a handful of coins. He wanted to give money toward the new house. I prayed over his 'seed money' and It's now sitting on my kitchen window sill... reminding me of his great faith.

I want faith like that.

The faith to simply believe. To not just say -- "But God .."

I want to be like Mary, who said, "Let it be to me as you say"

I want to be like my children -- who don't let thought clutter get in the way of their faith.

It is a desire of my heart.
It's a weapon of warfare.
It is possible. Hopefully tomorrow, I'll be able to walk in it even more.