Just ask for the ice cream

The other night I got a phone call from this girl. She & I met my junior year at 

CSU when I found myself leading her freshman bible study & desperately wanting

her to think I was cool. My plan worked, & we became fast friends, sharing a love for trail running, nutrition, Jesus, & the outdoors. Over the next four years, we built a friendship that I 

grew to deeply cherish. 

The phone call was short, & for the most part, insignificant. It was a welcome relief from the marathon

of paper writing I was participating in, yet I wasn't able to give it much time. I had briefly stepped outside of the coffee shop I was working at for the night, & before I had to return to my papers, I 

mentioned to her some of the prayer requests I had lately. She was familiar with most of them, &  I shared with her my frustration that nothing was really moving forward. 

She assured me that she would continue praying, &  I knew she meant it. It's a rare thing

to be able to fully trust someone in that way, & I have been recently reminded of the blessing

of friends who just know you like that. One of the last things she said to me is this: 

"Laura, just ask for the ice cream. It's what you want."

I've been thinking about it ever since. 

Out of context, it sounds a little bit bizarre. But the simplicity of the analogy contains

a profound truth about what I believe about God, & I am so thankful she pointed it out. 

Lately, when it comes to prayer, I approach God from a standpoint of, 

"If it is your will, do                        ." & there's nothing wrong with that. 

In fact, there's something beautiful about abandoning control through praying for God's

ultimate direction in your life. It helps me recognize how big he is & how small I am.

But somewhere in the process of wanting him to transform & awaken my desires,

I've lost the childlike anticipation of asking him for what I really want. 

It is easiest for me to envision God when I think of myself as his child, his daughter.

A child approaches her dad and says, "Dad, I want some ice cream." It's simple.

But instead, I find my requests sounding a little more like this: 

 "Dad, if you want to, could you maybe give me some ice cream?

It's totally fine if not, because it might hurt my stomach, or I might be allergic, 

or it will totally ruin my dinner plans, & I really don't want you to 

think I'm greedy, & actually, nope, I'm fine with what I have because 

you know what's best for me, & you probably would have given it to me 

already if you wanted me to have it." 

It's crazy, & all of the innocence & expectation of the request is robbed by my

inability to vocalize what it really is that I want. I fear the request itself,

 but what I really should be wondering is whether or not I am okay with

the answer I might receive. God has the power to say, "No." Because

maybe I am allergic, & maybe eating ice cream will be more detrimental to me than good.

Or maybe he'll say, "Sure thing. But how about you wait an hour, because you just

ate & you won't appreciate it fully in this moment." 

But maybe, he'll say, "Yes." & like any good dad, he is delighted by

my request with abandoned hope that he is good & he wants to give me

the desires of my heart. 

***

So here's to asking for what you want. Not the filtered, watered down

version of what you think you deserve, but what you really want. & here's

to expectantly seeking the answer with the full conviction that he is, indeed, a good dad.