You’re Welcome

My parents raised us to believe in a God who wanted to speak with us.  Some of my earliest memories involve my parents encouraging me to pray about something and “see what comes” to me.  For years I never really heard anything when I prayed.  But their message to me was consistently clear:  pray, expecting to hear an answer.  

One summer afternoon when I was 14 it happened.  I was sitting in the library of our house praying about something with my dad.  Quite suddenly, after years of kind of trying to listen, I heard very distinctly the answer to my prayers.  And I recognized that voice.    

Several decades have passed since that day.  And listening when I pray has become something I rarely even think about anymore. When I pray, I listen.  I expect to hear.  And I know that voice.  In the way our children know the voices of their parents.  

We too have raised our kids to believe in a God who wants to speak with them. We’ve encouraged them not only to pray, but to listen.  Explaining to them that just as we want to hear what’s on their hearts, God also wants to know the burdens and the desires of their hearts.  We’ve told them that God wants to be able to visit with all of His kids.  Just like Dad and I do. 

Our daughter Martha was first diagnosed speech and language delayed when she was 18 months old.  Understanding language was a struggle for her.  Particularly as a child.  Language and communication were not her strengths.  And so, of course, God chose what was her deficit, her weakness, to also be her gift. 

My dad, who was blind the last 10 years of his life, had tremendous insight and vision.  So, too, our daughter Martha, who struggles with language deficits, speaks openly with God and regularly hears when she prays.

When she was 10 years old I began the practice of regularly asking her what things she’d gotten in her prayer time.  When I’d ask she would usually tell me.  But it was rare that she’d offer such information unsolicited.  

What have you heard in your prayer time lately, I’d ask.  Has God spoken to you recently?

We were walking together one afternoon just the two of us and I asked if she had had any recent visits with God  

“Yes,” she answered matter-of-factly as we made our way along the path we were walking.  “I visit with Jesus a lot at bedtime.”

And what has Jesus said to you lately, I prodded.

She thought about this for a minute, picking her way around a small puddle in our way.  

Once we were safely around the puddle she continued, “He said, ‘You’re welcome, Marthy.’”

“You’re welcome’?” I repeated.

“Yeah,” she nodded, still looking down at the ground, watching for any new obstacles in our path.

 And what had you said, I asked.

 “I said, ‘Dear Jesus, thank you for dying for me,’” she said simply.

  I nodded, fighting back a tear that wanted to come.

We finished our walk mostly in silence after that.  And that night as I tucked her into bed I kissed her goodnight and turned her loose to visit with God before falling asleep.

Then I crawled into my own bed a little later, and let the tears come. The simplicity with which she had revealed her recent conversation, and the innocence of her words, had struck a familiar chord in me.  

 You’re welcome.

 Jesus went to the cross for me.  For my family. For my loved ones. 

 You’re welcome.  

 Simple.  So easy a child could understand it.  

Lying in bed that night I vowed to be better about thanking Him.  For His sacrifice.  For His willingness to be a sacrifice.  For suffering in my place.  For my sins, for my decisions, my shortcomings, my failures.  I decided that night to be better about thanking Him. Like my 10-year-old daughter did. 

“Dear Jesus, thank you for dying for me, too,” I whispered silently from my heart that night.  

And I think I may have heard it then, too.  Just like Marthy had.  Very simple. Always gracious.

“You’re welcome.”

Happy Easter.