The season brought warmth, birds, and flowers, but I barely noticed the beauty and life around me. I was caught in a funk darker than the bleakest winter day. Physically, I had been sick with an infection I couldn’t shake. Spiritually, the enemy was assailing me through the bitter words of another. Emotionally, I was in turmoil because of the failing health of my husband.
My anxiety was rising as I rifled through every possible place I could think of. After two days of searching, I was still coming up empty-handed. I dug around in the garage, in my junk drawer, in the pile of hardware, in the purse I had worn to the store to measure for a new hinge … everywhere I could think of.
I had reached a breaking point. I felt spent, desperate even. Both my body and soul were at a point of exhaustion. How much longer, Lord?, I cried within.
A number of years ago, I was invited to speak on a radio program for Christian mothers. When I began to talk about prayer being one of our most important motherhood tools, the host stopped me short. “Prayer is great, but it’s not a very practical solution to our daily problems,” she countered.
I sat up in bed, kicking off the covers in frustration as another violent coughing fit shook me. It was well past midnight, and I had been tossing and turning for over two hours, unable to sleep because of the extreme congestion in my head and chest. Eric was lying awake as well, staring at the ceiling, unable to get any rest because of all my coughing.
When we find ourselves in a worldwide crisis, our commission from God is clear…