The Routinely Repeated Prayer
BOYS. Every single one of the backsides in the back row of that photo belongs to a boy.
Why is that a big deal you ask?
Because my boys have long been almost the only boys in their age-group at church. Just Carter, Owen and a sea of girls. I’m sure at some point in a boy’s life, a lopsided ratio of boys to girls that lands heavy on the girl side is a good thing. In elementary school, not so much.
On Sunday mornings, the Harms house was a battlefield: two boys with an arsenal of arguments and emotion fighting to get out of Sunday School vs. one mama who tried to stand her ground. Sometimes they won. (Their dad usually escaped these wars because he was at church early to serve in one way or another.)
I could feel my boys’ pain. I totally could. There were times I seriously thought we should find ourselves a new church to plug into for the sake of our boys.
But we stayed, and I prayed. I specifically asked God to bring boys to our church and to give my boys a place where they fit. Where they belonged.
FOR YEARS I PRAYED THE SAME PRAYER.
Now look at that photo again. Among those backsides stand my boys. Worshiping.
Every week they get to play crazy games like wall-ball and glow-in-the-dark volleyball.
Every week they sit under solid Bible teaching from a youth pastor who gets kids and whom I respect.
And every week they are led in worship by a guy I’m madly in love with. (He’s one handsome dude, that worship leader.)
So the moral of my story is this:
Sometimes you’ve just gotta keep on praying.
Now if only I could talk Pastor Marty into using some Clash of Clans analogies during the Sunday morning service, I think I could get my boys on board with his sermons too. I think I’ll start praying about that 🙂