Madison’s Story:
At age seventeen, my life revolved around the locker-lined hallways of high school. My narrow-minded view of the world saw only as far as my graduation date.
Then my small world fell apart during my junior year. A nasty rumor about me spread through my entire high school. I made my first (and only) C in my English Honors class, and to top it all off, my high school sweetheart broke up with me. All three catastrophes happened on the same day.
Completely destroyed by 3 PM, I finally slumped through my bedroom door and flopped onto my beanbag chair. After refusing dinner, I plunged head-first into homework from the same English Honors class where I had stuttered my way through a speech that day. When tears finally blurred my vision, I gave up on my homework and got ready for bed. I definitely needed peaceful sleep before having to face my life the next day. And as a believer in Jesus since childhood, I knew Who could give me true rest.
After I pulled several pillows under my covers, I retreated deep down under the blankets and started to pray. I complained about my critical teacher, my quick-to-judge friend group, and that heartbreaking ex-boyfriend. After I expelled all the anger, I still ached for the lost boyfriend, the disloyal friends and the prospect of a slashed GPA. Why did God, who loved me, allow my world to crumble? My prayers turned to soft sobs as I told God I refused to ever leave bed again.
At that point, I noticed a storm growing louder and wilder outside my window. Thunder cracked and rain pounded on the roof, reminding me of the bigger world and helping my perspective shift. I thought of the millions of other people in the world with worse problems than mine. Why should God listen to my complaints from my dry bed and safe home, complete with loving parents and a dinner plate waiting outside my bedroom door?
Just as I had that thought, the thunder and rain stopped. I felt chills over my body. Had God used the storm and its sudden ending just to get my attention? I didn’t hear an audible voice, but I somehow knew God wanted me to get the message: He does listen to my prayers, and He has compassion for my struggles. As I kept praying, I heard the rain falling again as I poured out my heart to the Master of the storm.
I woke up the next morning to the aroma of Mom’s Friday morning toaster strudels. Throwing on my softest bathrobe, I headed for the kitchen. My parents looked surprised to see me with a smile on my face and an appetite.
After I drove to school, I said a quick prayer, thanking God for always listening. During each class period, I focused on God’s promise of his presence and care while I coped with whispers and knowing looks.
Confidence from God’s truth about my worth and identity carried me through the rest of that school semester. I sought to turn in high-level work in my English class, knowing God already said I was His royal daughter (1 Peter 2:9). I found new friends. To be honest, what others thought of me and how others graded my work still mattered to me. But I had a new awareness and comfort in knowing that Jesus, who cared for and valued me, was always listening for my next prayer.
“When the righteous cry for help, the Lord hears and delivers them out of all their troubles” (Psalm 34:17).
Photo by Element5 Digital on Unsplash
