Her only spicy prayer
getting courage
I wasn’t more than 8 and I was already a professional snooper. Guests would come over, and my siblings would be like, “Where’s Lynn?” But they already knew the answer. I was crouched near the living room door, probably with a glass cup pressed against it for the best sound quality. Because what is this, “Leave the room so adults can talk”? Oh no, we’re people too. We need to know the tea. And that day, what I overheard changed everything. My mom had been diagnosed with cancer. She went through surgery and nearly two years of chemo in the Dominican Republic. Even though Haiti is on the same island, she couldn’t come home until doctors gave her clearance. They had once told her, “don’t think you’ll survive this.” But they were wrong, God completely healed her. When she got home, we were just so happy. And a couple of weeks later, some friends came by and said, “we knew someone who relapsed and died from this, even after chemo.” From the living room, I heard my mom reply: “Why are you coming to my house to visit me and telling me this? This has nothing to do with me or my story.” Years later, she told us her spicy prayer to Jesus while in chemo: “I don’t think You gave me five kids just so they wouldn’t remember me. I don’t think You’ll let them be raised by another woman and never know what it feels like to be loved by their own mother.” She wasn’t worried about who would take over her house. Not even her husband (lol). She was in pain, bald, missing an organ; still her prayer wasn’t about herself. It was about us. And that still gives me goosebumps. That kind of courage doesn’t come out of nowhere. It made me wonder where she had learned to pray like that, to fight like that. The truth is, my mom’s fight was built on someone else’s grit. Borrowed from the woman who gave birth to her, but didn’t even get to raise her. My grandma, a go-getter. She used to ride in the back of construction trucks just to make a living, traveling from Jean Rabel to Port-de-Paix. Think North Miami Beach to Coral Gables, 30 miles one way. In the humid Miami heat, that’s just crazyyy. She didn’t want her kids to just learn to read, since she never got the chance. She wanted them far from the Vodou spirituality she grew up around—so they’d know Hope. She sent them to live with her siblings in different cities. Even if it meant they’d call her by her first name instead of “Mom.” Little did she know, my mom would find faith in one of those homes. Her sacrifice shaped my mom’s story. My mom’s story shaped mine. And when I think about it, their choices became the soil my life grew from. That’s why I can never wish for a different story. Not a flawless journey where I was never bullied or battled depression. I just don't want that story. Because would I still be me? Would I still see the outcast standing by themselves? Would I still sense the heaviness someone carry in a room—just by their body language? Maybe the wood in my ship was never meant to be polished. And if their courage could carry through generations, then mine isn’t wasted either. Your woods that look broken have purpose, too. Your courage isn't wasted either. That’s the upside-down way of Jesus. The courage to keep going, especially when it feels like you are at the end of yourself, is to let God meet you in your fear and still say, “Use me.” To see your scars, setbacks, insecurities and believe they hold purpose in His hands. First, we are Invited. Maybe feeling like you’re carrying a lot is actually an invitation. To whisper, “This is hard,” and still stay in it. Then, we are Formed. Not every setback means you messed up. Some of it is God strengthening what will not break next time. And let’s be real it doesn’t feel deep. It just feels exhausting. But sometimes, weariness is proof you’ve been showing up. And finally, Transformed. Not always with a big announcement. But like a seed planted under soil, in the dark. Then, when it’s time has come, nothing can stop it from growing. If your life feels hard right now, you don't have to thrash your red tinted glasses. Denying your emotions and situation. You can sit in the silence with Him, and borrow courage to keep going from someone else's story.
Heart Call:
Courage isn’t the absence of fear, it’s showing up scared. Everything that happens in this world happens at the time God chooses (Ecclesiastes 3:1 (GNT).
Is there a place in your life where effort feels invisible right now?
What would it look like to invite God to meet you there—even if you’re limping?