Risking Reputation: When to Ask for Prayer

My quads burn and tremble underneath my damp skin. They pull on my knees with each rep begging me to stand up and breathe. Drops of sweat roll between my shoulder blades, one by one absorbing into the band of my workout pants.

How many more reps? I lost count. It’s simple math but for some reason, when I push myself to like this, I can’t remember the last instruction the trainer just gave.

I glance up. Everyone’s arms are still swinging as they sink their tailbones to a seated position and back to standing.

“How many reps?” I ask my neighbor, in a forced exhale.

“12. 10 sets of 12.”

6, 7, 8….

Ok, I’m back on track.

I started taking classes at the gym a month ago. The other women in the class definitely push me. I workout harder and I workout stronger when we are together.

So when I’m pushing hard, and I lose track of where I am, my sister in the sweat reminds me. All I have to do is ask. I do the same for her without hesitation.

This happened for me while working out my salvation this week, too.

For months now God has had me on a grueling healing journey. You know the kind I mean. Like when He pokes at the root of why we gossip. Or hints at the cause of our rage that swings close to abuse.

It’s not something we want to share with friends. It’s not even something we want to explore ourselves. Its creepy edges and sinister underpinnings urge us to fold it back up like an origami masu box and hide it away inside our hearts forever. Or at the very least, figure it out and get rid of it on our own. In secret.

So this time I’ve been doing the hard work to get on the other side of it. But last week I got stuck. I couldn’t hear what God was saying. I wasn’t sure if my next step was His idea, or a crazy, confused idea I dreamed up.

I needed clarity.

In our faith walk, asking for help is more than needing a reminder of the rep count. Its admitting to a lack of complete togetherness. Personally, I’m tired of looking weak. I want to be a fit, tame, self-controlled warrior who fights her battles valiantly.

More than that, I want to be a voice to others, shouting, “ Yes, commit your life to God, and you can overcome anything.”

While we are overcomers, my isolated superhero persona is unrealistic. In the time between “commit” and “overcome”, l find myself splayed out on a floor somewhere, mascara smearing down my cheeks, begging God to make this pass and heal me already. (Matthew 26:39)

In the process, I often lose track of what’s going on. I can’t hear God’s direction for myself and I need to ask a friend to pray with me. I hate how that feels. That place of neediness.

And then comes the “what ifs”.

What if she judges me?
What if I look crazy?
What if she ignores my text?
What if she gives me some irrelevant, condescending advice that makes me bitter and more off track?

Last week I pushed the ‘what ifs’ aside.

I chose a few wise friends and invited them into my struggle. I asked for prayer, and let them listen with me. (Ecclesiastes 4:9-10)

One person said something close to, “Hey, good luck with that.” Right then liquid fire seeped through the edges of my heart and I let it swim there for a few hours. Then I forgave her.

But the other two spoke truth to me. One mentioned a bible story that answered at least 3 of the questions I was asking God. (2 Corinthians 1:3-4)

Instantly, I felt back on track. God was working. I could hear Him now.

Sometimes hearing Him for ourselves doesn’t register. We are working hard, and we don’t always trust what we hear. (Matthew 26:38)

Forget your reputation, and phone a friend.

Her love, and His, may carry the answers you are seeking.