faith

Zoe is a prayer warrior.  And frankly, she absolutely schools the rest of us.

For about three years, the motor on the power door in our van was burned out.  When the girls were younger, they thought it fun to engage the door and then watch it jerk back in the other direction when they interfered with its path.  Despite my giggle-shattering warnings, one day they made the door do its dance one too many times and it just broke.  Kevin and I discovered that with a little added strength, we could still open and close it, and it just wasn’t a priority to fork over the cash to get the door moving again.  The steady, red power door light on the dash stayed on all the time, as though the van registered the door stuck in the open position. Even Adam learned to call out, “broken!,” whenever some poor kid helping with carpool at school would try to open that door and struggle against it.

Then at the end of last week, Zoe randomly decided that she really wished that door worked.  “Mom,” she lamented, “I know it’s our fault that door in the van doesn’t work.  But we’re older now.  Me and Riley wouldn’t break it that way now. I really wish it worked.”

“I know, honey.  You’re right.  You two are much more mature now.  You probably wouldn’t break the door that way now.  But Daddy and I still aren’t going to pay to have it fixed.  As long as we can open it, that’s all that matters.”

Zoe considered this and nodded.  “I think I’m just going to pray about it for a while, and then I’ll just try the button and see if God has decided to fix it.”

I smiled.  “Sounds like a great idea, honey.”  I admit that I was thinking that God had more important things to be concerned about than whether we could push a silly button and have our door open automatically.  I confess: I did not believe God would do it.

I was wrong.

And this is why I’m so thankful that God filled scripture with real, flawed, doubting people like me, who loved Him so much but often behaved as if they were completely clueless.  I love, love, love the first half of Acts 12.  I need Acts 12.  John’s brother James had been executed by Herod, who had also thrown Peter into prison.  Acts 12:5 says that “the church was earnestly praying to God for him,” and that a large group had gathered in John Mark’s mother’s home specifically to pray (v.12).  When God answered their prayers with a mighty “YES,” and Peter walked out of prison with an angelic escort, the first place Peter went was to the house where all of his friends were, at that very moment, praying for him. The situation was so grave that when an excited servant girl named Rhoda insisted that she’d heard Peter at the door (she’d been so excited she ran to tell them without ever actually opening the door), they all told her “It must be his angel (v.15).”  They’d been praying fervently for Peter, but they never actually believed God would see him safely out of jail.  The scripture says that Peter, “kept on knocking, and when they opened the door and saw him, they were astonished (v.16).”   I love that Peter quickly quiets them down, motioning with his hand, not knowing who might be out and about listening.  He tells them about “how the Lord had brought him out of prison (v.17)” and then urges them to tell James (the brother of Christ) and “the brothers” about it.  He urges them to tell the story, not just so James and the others would know he was free, but that they all might be encouraged and strengthened.  Peter’s story would fuel their faith.

Friday night, when I prayed with Zoe before bed time, she prayed, “Dear God, I know it’s partly my fault that the power door on our van doesn’t work anymore.  I really wish it worked.  Please.  Fix it, God.  I know you can.”

I smiled, but I didn’t expect any miracles.  I told her, laying a hand on her cheek, that I love her faith.  Oh, how I love her faith.

So, on Saturday, Kevin noticed that the steady red power door light was blinking, but he didn’t think much about it.  He didn’t know about the prayer, and he figured the light was finally about to burn itself out.  On Sunday, the light was still blinking.  Kevin fiddled with the dimmer on the dash lights, and the light went out.  “Well, I guess that’s that,” he said, sitting back against his seat.

Then the light came on again for three beats, maybe four.  The blinking continued, now just slower, almost more significantly.  Almost in a Hello! Notice that this light is blinking? Remember that prayer your daughter prayed? Maybe you want to check. the. door. kind of way.  In my doubt, the prayer didn’t even register with me at the moment.  I sat there thinking, “Hmm.  That’s odd.”

So, it wasn’t until Riley slow-p0ked her way out of the van when we got home that I discovered the truth.  I yanked against the door with strength, and the little motor hummed to life.   Astonished, I let go of the handle and watched the door glide open. That door had not moved on its own in three years.  And we’d tried.  Many times.  Hoping for a fluke.  Then, I started laughing and calling for Zoe, who still hadn’t made her way out of the back seat.

“Zoe!  Zoe!  The door!”  I pointed at it, grinning.  “It just worked!”

I wish I had a tape recording of the way that Zoe giggled as she reached for the power door button next to Riley’s seat.  She pushed the button and the door hummed and glided closed.  We stood there for a few minutes, laughing, testing every button that opened and closed that door multiple times.  I kept shaking my head, and Zoe just giggled.  “He did it!  God fixed the door!” She said to me.

When we were finally in the house, Zoe stopped, grabbed my hand, and said, “God, thank you so much for fixing the door.  Thank you so much.”  I just love her faith.

It reminds me of a time a year or so ago, when Zoe, who loves butterflies as much as I do, decided that she would ask God to make a butterfly land on her finger.  I remember saying something like, “Well, if anyone can make a butterfly land on your finger, it’s God.”  I thought it was cute, but I wasn’t looking for any miraculous landings.

The next day, when I picked Zoe up from school, she zoomed around the grassy area in front of the van with a friend while I talked to Adam’s teacher.  Suddenly, she ran over to me, calling, “Mom!  Mom!  Look!!”

Not only did she have a butterfly on her finger, but it stayed on her finger while she walked quickly over to me to show me.  We were both in complete awe.  The butterfly sat tranquilly on her finger, its sunset-orange wings still, while we giggled and rejoiced and exclaimed, and then just as tranquilly, it flew away.

Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. ~Hebrews 11:1

I love the way that God uses my children to remind me of a thousand different things, not the least of which is that Christ told His disciples they must “change and become like little children” or they would “never enter the kingdom of heaven (Matthew 18: 3).”  Zoe’s faith, as yet boundless and unhindered by the loss and doubt and weariness that makes us so dull as adults, will not allow her to question one basic fact:  Whatever it is, God can do it.  And she’s not ashamed to tell you where God fits into her life.  I can’t tell you the number of times she’s said to me, “Mom, you’re the best.  Well, you’re not really the best because God is the BEST best, but you’re next.”

The other night, I heard her praying that some of our best friends would sell their house.  Again she said, simply, “God, I know you can do it.  And I know it’s your choice.  And I know you will do it…when it’s right to do it.”  I was struck, listening to her, remembering what Christ said about not needing to use so many words when we pray, “for your Father knows what you need before you ask him (Matthew 6:8).”  Wrapped up in those few words of Zoe’s were real faith, an acknowledgment of God’s sovereignty and His right to say “no,” and a declaration of trust that He knows what’s best and when is best.

I so often feel a bit like the man who once approached Jesus seeking healing for his son.  “…if you can do anything, take pity on us and help us,” he’d said, to which Christ had replied, “‘If you can’? Everything is possible for him who believes.”  Every time I read that passage, I can almost hear the urgent, desperate rush with which the father responds, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief (Mark 9:22-24)!”  Yep.  That’s me.  I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!

At this point in my own journey of faith, I completely understand Peter, who loved Christ so passionately that he didn’t even want to stay in the boat once he knew it was Jesus walking toward him over the wind-whipped sea.  But when Peter was actually walking on the water too, he had to keep his eyes glued to the Lord and no.where.else, because the sinking began the minute he turned his eyes to those waves.  Sometimes it’s really hard not to look at those waves.  I wonder how long my gorgeous daughter will be able to remain innocently unaware of them.  Every night, as I kneel by her bed, I ask God to protect her faith.  And I love that He delights in her so much that He’ll fix a silly thing like the power door on our van.  She’ll never forget that.

I hope her mother will not soon forget it either.:)