I look around every day in awe of the prayers I prayed that have come true. All I ever wanted was to serve God, be a wife and mama, run a home, enjoy my life and spend time with awesome people. I have all of that and so much more! But…then there are
This post isn’t a how-to, it’s just a reflection.
Kate is asleep a few feet away from me as I write this and I can hear the boys playing a board game with their dad in the dining room. When she wakes up, her daddy is in charge of her so I can clean out my closet! I can’t walk in my walk-in closet so it’s dire. Life is not perfect but it’s pretty darn close. God has answered even some of my most audacious prayers!
Confession time. For most of my life, I suffered from sweaty hands.
It was at its worst during middle and high school and persisted well into adulthood. I even tried a prescription I applied to my palms every night before bed to dry them up but nothing ever worked. A guy reaching for my hand or someone suggesting we all hold hands to pray would immediately incite anxiety which of course only made things worse. I remember singing in the choir at church once and my hands were sweating so bad, they were dripping down the hymnal. I was sure the entire congregation could see it.
I begged God every day to heal my sweaty hands. I was convinced my condition would ruin my chances of ever getting married.
Sweaty hands are embarrassing, even gross! It’s like a billboard that says, “Tab’s a nervous wreck!” I hated being the girl with sweaty hands.
Now I’m 40 and my sweaty hands are about 90% better than they use to be and hardly bother me at all anymore. They still flare up if I’m on edge. Even in a cool room, if I’m speaking or put on the spot, I immediately start to “stress sweat.” But on an everyday basis, I rarely even think about them anymore whereas in my youth, it felt like they defined my entire existence.
I know it’s because I am simply a more peaceful person now that I’ve mostly overcome perfectionism, people pleasing and worry.
I am actually grateful for my anxiety battle because it shaped me into the woman I am today. I’m sure I’d still be a sweaty mess if not for the miscarriage and the subsequent fight to regain my peace.
I believe God didn’t answer that prayer because my malady served a purpose. The anxiety brought to the surface feelings and fears I needed to deal with and God did a work in my life to restore my peace.
My unanswered prayer now serves as a reminder of how God isn’t our personal genie but wants to walk with us and restore us, not just wave a magic wand so our discomfort disappears.
I wanted a fast fix. God wanted to heal me.
I think that’s how a lot of unanswered prayers works–God doesn’t give us what we want, He gives us what we need.