Bold Like Seamus

Do you have different nicknames for your pets? We do. Seamus, especially, has several different names, including Your Majesty, King James, and The Reason We Can’t Have Nice Things. I admit that he’s spoiled, but if we didn’t spoil him, he’d get what he wanted anyway. When Seamus sees something he wants, he goes after it. He loves Dr. Pepper, so if I’m drinking it, he’ll come right up to it and start drinking it. If he wants to see what I’m doing on my phone, he grabs my wrist and pulls the phone towards him. And if he wants me to give him my full attention, he’ll knock that phone clear across the room and sit on my face. Last winter, in the middle of the night, he decided he wanted to look out the window. So he launched himself at the blinds and before I could stop him, he had torn the blinds into top and bottom, giving himself a nice little window to look out of. All of our blinds are now held together with binder clips and prayer. And every day we have to add more of each.

Our Mackin is Seamus’s polar opposite. Mackin is tentative, timid, and asks only that his daddy gives him attention. When I give him treats, he circles them for so long that his brothers eat them. A few nights ago, he didn’t eat any treats; he waited until his brothers were finished and licked up their crumbs. So I gave him a handful of treats and kept his brothers at bay until he was done eating them. I looked at him and said, “Oh, Mackin. If I’d known you wanted more, I would have given it to you.”

My own words struck a chord in my head, but it wasn’t until later that I realized why. I remembered a quote by Charles Bukowski, a poet who somehow manages to give a voice to every feeling I have. He wrote, “We don’t even ask for happiness, just a little less pain.” That didn’t just strike a chord with me; it sent bells ringing through my head. Because that’s how my prayer life has been lately. I’ve been like Mackin, settling for crumbs—not even bothering to ask for more. I’ve been praying “at least” prayers that sound like this:

“God, if you decide not to heal my friend, could You at least take away his pain?”

“Lord, I’m anxious and upset. I won’t ask you to change my circumstances, but could You at least give me peace?”

And the Bukowski-type prayer: “I don’t even need to be happy, God. I’m just asking for less pain.”

When did I start praying like that? When did I start asking God for so little when I KNOW He’s so big? I think it’s partly because I’m afraid that God won’t answer me in the way I want. I also look around at all He’s given me, and I think, “Do I dare ask for more?” I’m reminded of the scene in the movie “Oliver” when Oliver is eating his gruel with the other orphans. He’s had his portion, but he’s still hungry.  Timidly, he approaches the server and asks if he can have more. The server is incredulous—how dare this waif ask for more when he’s already had his allotment of gruel? The server calls for reinforcements, and the tale of Oliver asking for more is retold. The man hearing it roars, “MORE?  Do I understand that he asked for MORE after eating his supper?”

When I’m in a season of life that’s causing me uncertainty, I tend to see my prayer life this way—I see myself approaching God with caution, summoning up my courage to ask Him for MORE. In my mind’s eye, I’ve pictured a heavenly disturbance as the angels react like the server did in “Oliver,” scurrying around talking about this greedy woman who already has so much but dared to ask for MORE. I’ve imagined the heavens shaking as God replied, “MORE? Am I to understand that Renee has asked for MORE after all that I’ve already given her?”

But that’s not the God I’ve come to know. The God I know, the God who has covered me with grace time and time again, is far too loving to make me settle for the “at leasts.” I think God wants me to come to Him hungry for MORE. He doesn’t always give it to me. Sometimes I have to wait for it; other times, MORE rains down on me like showers of blessings. But if I never ask—if I’m tentative like Mackin—the answer will always be no.

Hebrews 4:16 says, “So let us come boldly to the throne of our gracious God. There we will receive His mercy, and we will find grace to help us when we need it most.” That verse reminds me of Seamus—breaking down blinds and pushing any other obstacle out of his way in order to get what he wants, no matter the consequences. The verse also tells me to boldly bring my little Oliver-sized bowl to God and ask Him to fill it, saying, “Please, God—I want some MORE.” My history with God tells me that He’ll pick up His divine ladle and fill that bowl to overflowing—with His love, His grace, and the deepest desires of my heart.