// Megan Byers //

There is a feeling that I often experience after prayer, a small joyfulness. The amount of joy is not small, far from it. Somehow the abundance of joy makes me feel small. The best way I can describe this littleness is with a child who is met with love after falling down.

All the child can feel is pain; she is hurt, she is afraid, she is in need. As tears start to form in her eyes, her parents rush to her side. She points to where it hurts and seconds later there is a bandaid or an ice pack covering the injury. Tears are wiped from her cheeks and kisses are administered to her forehead. She recognizes she is loved as her parents tend to her wounds. Suddenly, there is no more fear, there is no more pain, and she feels the joy of being the object of her parents’ affection. 

This feeling, this small joyfulness, comes after I spend my time in prayer complaining. When I tell the Lord that I’m frustrated, angry, sad, afraid, or hurt, he always, always, responds by saying, “you don’t have to be.” 

Jesus, a man who knows complete and total suffering, lets me, slightly inconvenienced, finish complaining before he gives me a way out. He could cut me off mid-rant by saying “alright, that’s enough,” but he listens, everytime. He is so gentle! 

“You don’t have to be…”

Once I hear these words I am a child sitting on the kitchen counter, popsicle in hand, no longer frustrated, but loved. 

I leave prayer lighter, more joyful, and smaller. This is freedom. 

I complain a lot, both inside and outside of prayer. Before I discovered the freedom available to me by showing God where it hurts, I felt heavy. I dragged other people down with me by complaining to them. I became consumed by my feelings, and reacted poorly to the advice of others. I was enslaved to frustration and exhausting to be around. I wasted so much time. 

Complaining never changed the situation, it just made everything worse. I was a child that fell down, scraped her knee, and screamed about it instead of accepting anyone’s help. 

But when I turn to the Lord and let him into my pain, he alleviates it. After I get all of the complaining out of my system, Jesus takes away my grievance. Not by taking me out of the situation, but by setting me free from my feelings. I point to where it hurts and he pulls out the ice pack. He wipes my tear-stained cheeks. He kisses my forehead. 

You don’t have to be frustrated. You don’t have to be afraid. You don’t have to be sad. You can be, your feelings are completely valid. You have every right to feel frustrated or angry or sad in any given situation, but those feelings don’t need to consume you. 

Once I hear the words “you don’t have to be,” I am filled with the understanding of a child. A child that still feels the sting of her injury, but chooses to focus on the love of her Father. A child who chooses to feel protected, cared for, and seen in her pain. A child who chooses to rejoice because she is small and her Father tends to her needs. A child who accepts help and receives the love of her Father. A child who is free.