On asking God.


I was thinking about a friend, and her anxiety meds, then about panic attacks and asked Chris if he’d ever had one. I explained what it was like then said that the tightness and shortness of breath still happens sometimes.

He asked what I wasn’t giving to You. The baby. His sleep, eating, everything. I’m trying. He told me I need to just do things while Eli is sleeping instead of sitting tense counting every minute he’s asleep. He said I need to ask You for things I want, even a glass-paneled door between the bedroom and bathroom. That You care about even that. That I don’t need to explain to You (or him) why it would be good for all involved. That I can ask for things even if it doesn’t directly advance Your kingdom.

I grew up thinking I shouldn’t ask for things.

I don’t like to.

I’m scared to.

I feel guilty, selfish, like I might be left or hurt or something if I ask. Like I’ll ask for the wrong thing… I’ll hurt someone else… I’ll ask the wrong way.

Asking is bad, in my kid-mind. In that kid-mind I deserve what I get that is bad, and I don’t deserve what I want but don’t need (and sometimes it is hard to ask for what I need, too).

He says You love me. I know.

He says You care about what I want. That You want to know. You want me to tell You. Even more than I will someday want Eli to tell me what he wants.

He says You care about me as much as You care about Eli.

He says I have to trust. To have faith.

He says even though, as a kid, I never felt I could tell anyone what I wanted for Christmas, that I can and should tell You. That You want me to.

He says You love me.

Why do I know but not believe?

Why do I come to You in fear and sheepishly… or I don’t come to You at all?

You say we can come to You confidently.

You say to present our requests to You. ALL kinds.

He says You even want to know my silly requests.

He says… You say, You love me.


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