Do you ever feel like giving up? Do you feel like giving up today? We all feel like giving up at times. When we are tired. When it’s hard. But what if we didn’t give up? What if . . .

We all have moments in life in which giving up would be the easiest way.  We think these thoughts of desperation when it’s hard.  When it’s unbearable.  When we can’t see a way.  But thankfully, I was reminded this week of a time that wasn’t given up on, and how our faithful Heavenly Father really does come through.

 

It wasn’t anybody’s fault per say; our lives were in survival mode.  My first wife had just passed away from cancer in 2008 and the word routine instantly took a whole new meaning.  Each day was a long test of durability and viability, one in which we clung together in a continual sweeping motion of hang-on!  I woke up each morning to read and pray, trying to sustain my own soul.  Then I put a young five-year-old on a school bus, ate some breakfast, and got a three-year-old ready to run with me to work as my tag-a-long.  We took pride on things such as smiling we were together, that we lived to see another day, and that dads and boys could do cool things like driving tractors on a farm for a living.  If we came home and ate a hot meal we were doing well.  Our priorities were spiritual and emotional health.  I read Bible to both boys.  We played a lot of basketball.  I did laundry at night while they were sleeping.  Things didn’t match.  If it was clean, you wore it.  Many things went undone. 

 

We were surviving

I was surviving

We were grieving

 

And the truth is, although I was doing the best I could as a dad, there were some things that we just didn’t have time for.  Each day was full.  There wasn’t a second left to our day to fit anything else in: even important things. 

 

Justin, the three-year-old, needed readied for school.  Every boy needs a mom or a dad to teach them the fundamentals to succeed at that age.  It was the learning age.  The time in life that one develops the recognition of symbols, the identification of letters and numbers, and the skills necessary for kindergarten. 

But we were surviving.

And there wasn’t anything I could do about it but pray.

And then, a few years later, the day came when Justin went to school as well.

Kindergarten was a train wreck.

 

I suppose looking back one might say that I could have prepared him better for his first year.  But to be fair to myself, that is not how life is after loss, and the survival stage of life that we raced through each day did not permit a single second to squeeze in the ABC’s.  Justin was my koala bear.  He was three when his mom died and clung to my side.  Continually. I gave all I had to sustain him emotionally and spiritually.  I suppose his Kindergarten teacher knows that.

I still have the notes his Kindergarten teacher wrote me.  I have the other teacher’s notes too.  From concerned teachers.  Ones that notified me of how much he struggled.

We all struggled. We were surviving.

 

I prayed. 

I hired a tutor. 

Though I couldn’t do it all, I tried to get the help he needed.  Many others helped.  Grandparents, family members, a church family, those closest to us.

 

Speaking from experience, a parent in that position often feels that they aren’t there to help their children like they should.

I wasn’t there to help him academically. 

Except to pray.

 

And today, there are people everywhere in that exact same position. 

 

Run ragged, you might be in a situation exactly like I was.  Maybe you lost a spouse and are trying to do your best to make a living and provide for a family.  Perhaps you are navigating life after a divorce and are trying to find routine in a crazy world.  Maybe you are doing two jobs and have little time for much else.  You might be doing the very best you can, yet the best you have to offer seems as though it isn’t enough, and your shortcomings shine as bright as a neon sign in the night sky.

 

I’m here to tell you that there is still hope.

 

Prayer changes things.

 

And yet, you might not believe me.

 

You might think your situation is too hard.  That your world is too rough.  That your life is too nutty.  That your hand of cards is too unfair.  And you might not believe that God can carry you through it.

 

There were plenty of nights that I doubted too.

 

Justin is a bright kid.  He has such talent and poise to do wonderful things with his life.  He simply started with a tremendous disadvantage . . . one not in the least his own doing. 

 

And life does that to us all, doesn’t it?  Sometimes life throws monkey wrenches at us so quick and all we can do is duck and keep running.  That’s what I did.  That’s what we did.  We survived.  You might be surviving too.

 

But there’s good news.

 

Prayer changes things.

 

Well, in all the craziness after our loss, Justin never was held back in school.  That is a miracle.  The second miracle is that he took interest in his schooling.  After a long haul of trying to get him to see that school was important, things became his own. He owned his education and took pride in doing well.  And now, after all those crazy years . . . after all the stress a dad had for a child that started off with such a disadvantage, he is excelling.

 

Yes, prayer changes things.

 

Last Monday, Justin was just inducted into the National Honor Society for his high school.  With his 4.0 grade point average and sights set on a successful career, I couldn’t be a prouder dad.  My wife and I rounded up our blended family, went to the ceremony, and then celebrated with ice cream.  I wish his Kindergarten teacher could have been there.  I wish all the grade school teachers of whom I have saved notes and letters from could have been there.  It was a mighty special moment.

 

One I had nothing to do with.

 

Other than the prayers.

 

Today, I want to reach out to the hurting soul who is at the end of their rope.  Don’t give up.  Not yet.  There is a God who desperately cares about you and your situation.  He can “fix” better than you can imagine.  He can work things better than you can orchestrate.  He can teach.  He can heal.  He can do all good things.  In your wildest imaginations, you cannot picture something better than what he wants to do.  Or give.  Or be.

 

I know this.  Because eleven years later, Justin is holding a piece of paper that says so.

 

Prayers change things.

 

Keep praying.

 

 

By Chuck Carr