Another's Faith
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As I write this my children are still sleeping in their beds. It’s early morning and where many boys and girls have already dressed, quickly eaten breakfast and ran out the door for school…my two sleeping cubs are curled up in their blankets, with their rhythmic hums even trying to convince me to crawl back in bed. Soon I will wake them from their mini hibernation, usher them to make their beds and ready themselves for breakfast and homeschool lessons soon after that. It is an honor and a gift that this is a normal morning for us and I feel the full weight of this precious package.
Reflecting back on my years as a student, I can recall more about my elementary years than my adolescent ones. I was a straight A student throughout all these years so I was paying attention…but more core memories are tucked in my heart from kindergarten to fifth grade than my remaining years of education. My mom was a teacher at my elementary school so my younger brother and I spent a great deal of time roaming the halls, playing on the playground, spinning in mom’s desk chair, and best of all… using the fancy-dan vending machine in the teachers lounge — feeling like VIP in the process with cola and snickers in hand. While I liked my elementary school and my teachers, the best part of my day was the moment I got to race my little brother to my mother’s empty classroom. Once we crossed the threshold…the weight of the day faded…the hurt feelings from playground drama felt meaningless…the stress from a pop quiz left me as I exhaled and ran to my mother.
My brother and I weren’t permitted to go hog-wild — no there was order in my mom’s classroom, even after all the chairs were empty and her students had returned home for the day. Peaceful music, comfy places to rest, pencils and paper galore to use for drawing, questions from a genuinely curious and caring heart wanting to know how our days had been…I remember a lot about elementary school…but running through those cinderblock halls, and crossing her threshold, was the best part of my day.
Just as much as I remember the best part of my day during those years…I also remember the worst part. I was a quiet, kind little girl and so very tenderhearted. So while I sat quietly in the car waiting to arrive at the cinderblock palace — was it just me or was there always thunder, lightning, and rain falling upon arriving to school?? Anyways…I may have been sitting quietly but wow their was a lot going on in my mind. My elementary school backpack held very little physically but I might as well have been a pack mule with all the pressure I added. I was a happy child but feared much at the same time…and never said a word about it so no one would have guessed…well except for my mother.
She, like any good mother, had learned my patterns of behavior and knew when I wasn’t saying anything — my heart was still saying a lot. She never pressured me to find my words, she never pushed me to “act like a big girl” or try to build me up with words that actually tear a child down.
No, my mother prayed.
She prayed aloud so I could hear her every morning before we parted ways in the cinderblock maze.
She prayed as she walked me to my classroom if she could tell I needed a few steps more.
And even as a little girl I knew, without her even telling me…she was praying for me throughout the day.
I may have been nervous, fearful, quiet… but I was covered in prayer. And just in case I ever forgot the righteous covering around me, she pinned a golden angel on the inside of my backpack, for only me to see. She did this for all of us when we headed to school. I loved that little angel and still have it to this day. It was never treated as a good luck charm, or even meant to glorify angels…it was meant to whisper the deep truths spoken in Psalm 91:11 to my tired, weary soul…
For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways.
I needed that reminder. Every. Day. I needed her prayers. Each and everyday I journeyed into those halls, headed to my classroom, I needed the steadfast prayers of my mother. And she never made me ask for them.
Looking back, I am so thankful my mother never grew irritated with my lack of progress…but rather she remained faithful in prayer that God would carry me through each day and asked He lay His favor upon me. He answered. He carried. He lifted my heavy backpack, and draped his favor upon my tiny shoulders. He did this not because of my faith in Him…but my mothers.
In Mark 2:1-5 we read
A few days later, when Jesus again entered Capernaum, the people heard that he had come home. They gathered in such large numbers that there was no room left, not even outside the door, and he preached the word to them. Some men came, bringing to him a paralyzed man, carried by four of them. Since they could not get him to Jesus because of the crowd, they made an opening in the roof above Jesus by digging through it and then lowered the mat the man was lying on. When Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralyzed man, “Son, your sins are forgiven.”
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Now let’s look at Matthew 8:5-13
When Jesus had entered Capernaum, a centurion came to him, asking for help. “Lord,” he said, “my servant lies at home paralyzed, suffering terribly.”
Jesus said to him, “Shall I come and heal him?”
The centurion replied, “Lord, I do not deserve to have you come under my roof. But just say the word, and my servant will be healed. For I myself am a man under authority, with soldiers under me. I tell this one, ‘Go,’ and he goes; and that one, ‘Come,’ and he comes. I say to my servant, ‘Do this,’ and he does it.”
When Jesus heard this, he was amazed and said to those following him, “Truly I tell you, I have not found anyone in Israel with such great faith. I say to you that many will come from the east and the west, and will take their places at the feast with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven. But the subjects of the kingdom will be thrown outside, into the darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.”
Then Jesus said to the centurion, “Go! Let it be done just as you believed it would.” And his servant was healed at that moment.
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And lastly, let us look at Matthew 15:21-28
Leaving that place, Jesus withdrew to the region of Tyre and Sidon. A Canaanite woman from that vicinity came to him, crying out, “Lord, Son of David, have mercy on me! My daughter is demon-possessed and suffering terribly.”
Jesus did not answer a word. So his disciples came to him and urged him, “Send her away, for she keeps crying out after us.”
He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel.”
The woman came and knelt before him. “Lord, help me!” she said.
He replied, “It is not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to the dogs.”
“Yes it is, Lord,” she said. “Even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.”
Then Jesus said to her, “Woman, you have great faith! Your request is granted.” And her daughter was healed at that moment.
While I wish we could dive into greater depth with each of these stories…I instead encourage you to spend some time in these chapters for while I want to focus on one specific matter, there is so much nestled within these holy lines. Ask the Holy Spirit to fill you with understanding as you read. The word truly is alive and will speak. He who has ears to hear, let him hear.
Each of these stories hold a common thread…someone is in need and it’s not they who seek Jesus for themselves but someone else on their behalf. In the first story found in Mark, Jesus makes no remark concerning the faith of the paralyzed man as he so often would before healing someone. No, Jesus instead notices the faith of the man’s friends and it is because of their faith in Jesus that he heals the man.
In the second story we see how the centurion seeks out Jesus — the faith of the paralyzed servant is not mentioned, only the faith of the one who sought Jesus is noted. It is through the faith displayed by this soldier that his servant is healed.
The last story continues in this theme, for it is not the faith of the demon-possessed child that brings healing…no it is the faith in Jesus carried by the mother.
I think often times we can fall for the belief that whether or not someone is healed…redeemed…or even just has a better day…rests purely on that individual’s shoulders. We say we will pray for them — but are we truly seeking the Kingdom on their behalf — carrying their weary soul like the friends of the paralyzed man…trusting Jesus to heal no matter the distance like the centurion…or pleading for a righteous miracle despite circumstance like the Canaanite woman…
Our faith in Jesus has the ability to part seas in our lives — and in the lives of those around us — should He will it. I believe He is waiting to hear our knees hit the floor and our hearts run to His throne room. And not just one time…
True the stories from today’s reach may appear to be one-and-done scenarios…BUT how far did these people have to travel to find Jesus? How hard did they work to seek Him? How open were their hearts to His will? Jesus saw their souls as they pleaded with Him. He saw their hearts. He saw their faith. And then He chose what came next.
Sometimes the day doesn’t go as planned or even as prayed for. But may I say, from the seat of a little girl whose mother did not base her faith on whether her prayers were answered…but laid her everything at the feet of her King, praying fervently on behalf of her daughter and trusting Him with whatever happened next.
My children are stirring now, so before I go prepare breakfast, I’m taking my knees to the floor, and readying my heart to run to the throne room of my King on behalf of my children. It’s what my mother did. It’s what I do now. And it’s what I hope you will do for whichever soul God brings to your heart next.
Jesus showed us through the friends, through the centurion, and through the Canaanite mother…parting seas happen when great faith is shown by one or by another.
