The Undiscovered Country

The Third Excuse

Another reason I hate (and I mean hate) asking others to pray for me is pride.

Admitting I have a problem and need help is exposing my weaknesses to everyone around me. It’s admitting I can’t do something on my own; that I don’t have any answers.

My last entry is a perfect example. I humbled myself before you, and less than twelve hours later I wanted to delete it.

In a country — perhaps the world — people are given praise for rising above their challenges without the help of others, especially an unseen God.

Do I not write well because I practice at it? Do I not have a child because my husband and I sought out a doctor to make it possible? Do I have a job where I make a decent living because I worked (no pun intended) at it for the last eighteen years?

Where was God in all that?

If he played no part in those things, why go to him now over something as simple as a skin disease?

Because for me I reached a breaking point. I can’t stand the pain anymore. I’ve tried the drugs, I’ve tried the creams, I’ve tried eliminating all perfumes and dyes from everything that touches my skin.

Yet still it persists.

That it’s stress related I have no doubt.

Eliminating that stress is another matter entirely. I’m no good at eliminating stress when it’s stress that drives me.

Maybe it’s not prayer I need after all.