My husband walked into my study one morning when I was reading John 21. He pivoted and immediately left the room, because I had just burst out crying. He didn’t figure he should be there.

He couldn’t have known that what would become my favorite prayer had just leaped out of the pages of God’s word and into my heart.

In this post-resurrection appearance, Jesus, standing in the morning sun, calls to his disciples from the shore: “Friends, haven’t you any fish?“ The disciples do not realize it is Jesus calling; nevertheless, they do what the man tells them and throw their empty net on the right side of the boat. When they couldn’t haul the net in for the great number of fish, John says, “It is the Lord!“

John’s understanding there could be no other explanation almost made me cry, but what Peter did pushed the tears past any “let’s be sensible here” barrier.

Putting on his outer garment, for this was the proper way to greet someone in that day and place, Peter jumped into the water to greet the Lord! Ah, such exuberance, such love.

Every day in our lives God does great things, and so I’ve written this prayer at the beginning of John 21:

“Lord, keep me from being oblivious to your working. Help me, like John, to know when something marvelous happens, it is because of you. Then help me, like Peter, to respond by coming to you properly, but with adoring abandonment.“

I once sang the lovely song, “I Want to Know You More.“ One line comes and goes very quickly, but it has such poignancy for me. When I sang it, I meant it, yet how could I really mean it?

The assertion is too grand: “And I would give my final breath, to know you in your death and resurrection-oh, I want to know you more.“

As I practiced I thought a lot about those words and what they mean.

What would it mean to know Christ in his death?

I doubt any of us will be crucified outside the city gates, but we can still know something of his death. Studying the accounts of his death will help us understand what it might mean. Would I be willing to forget myself? Would I be willing to feel, even be, alone for the sake of love? Would I be able to forgive even the most cruel deed by the most cruel hands? Would I, in fact, give my final breath to know Him in his death?

What would it mean to know Christ in his resurrection? The letters of Paul and Peter give us an idea.

Would I be able to see beyond trials to a place where God will welcome me? Would I be able to understand the power available to me, like the working of his mighty strength, which he exerted in Christ when he raised him from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly realms.“ (Eph. 1:20)? Would I never give in to discouragement because Heaven is near and mine because of the resurrection of Christ? Would I know the freedom of the promise and hope of putting on immortality when I receive my “spiritual body” (I Cor. 15:44)? Would life here on earth, “the grass withers and the flowers fall” (I Peter 2:24), finally be put in perspective?

The story of Stephen reveals a man who did, in fact, know Christ in his death and resurrection.

He knew Christ in his death, as the mob “yelled at the top of their voices and dragged him out of the city and began to stone him.“ He knew Christ in his death when he repeated words so like the Lord’s: “Lord, so not hold this sin against them.“

He also knew Christ in his resurrection, which is why he was able, “full of the Holy Spirit,“ to look to heaven and see “the glory of God, and Jesus standing at the right hand of God” (Acts 7:55). Standing, not sitting! What looked like a vicious death scene was Stephen’s most glorious moment. He saw Jesus standing by his father, not sitting, but standing, to welcome and honor his good and faithful servant.

It is interesting to note that the man overseeing and witnessing Stephen’s martyrdom, later wrote “I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, to attain to the resurrection from the dead” (Phil. 3:10-11).

Such irony is not uncommon when one comes to know Jesus. To really know him. So when my faith is strong, I, too, sometimes pray this prayer:

Lord, I would give my final breath, to know you in your death and resurrection.

Matthew 8 changed my life. It was this passage that made me get a pencil and begin writing prayers in my Bible.

When Jesus came to Capernaum, the centurion sought him out and asked him to heal his suffering servant. Jesus offered to go with him, but the centurion said he did not “deserve” to have Jesus to come under his roof. He also said he was acquainted with “authority,“ and he knew all Jesus had to do was say it was done, and it would be.

This statement of Jesus’ absolute control over all things did not go unnoticed by out Lord. Jesus was “astonished” and said to those following him, “I tell you the truth, I have not found anyone in Israel with such great faith.“

Wouldn’t that be wonderful—to amaze Jesus? Not that I haven’t amazed him before.

I’m sure I amazed Him along with my daughter, son-in-law, and baby grandson Jake, and several nameless faces, when I fought the ducks at the Indianapolis Zoo. We were there celebrating my first grandchild’s first birthday, and it was lovely right up until I went to the drink wagon for a much-needed lemonade and was heading back to Jake’s stroller, parked in a shady area by the pond.

That’s when I saw it—a horde of ducks pecking another poor duck on the top of his pitiful head. Not an activist and certainly not a militant by nature, I became that wounded duck’s only ally.

Swinging my purse (lucky for him I hadn’t just shoved some money in my pocket), I told the hurt duck to stick with me and then scattered the other ducks, screaming at them to get away from my little friend (I would say I did not say that, but my daughter insists I did). I, ordinarily too much concerned about public opinion, did not even notice the shocked and slightly amused group of people around me. (My son-in-law could not speak.)

It took me quite a while to save that duck, but it seemed worth it to me.

Of course, that’s not what I mean when I say I want to amaze the Lord. The centurion’s faith was the thing. And while I have faith, a lot I like to think, I don’t think my faith has ever really amazed Him. I think it is a saving faith, and I think it has even pleased him, but I don’t think it has astonished him.

And while I still walk by faith instead of sight, before I see Him face to face, I should like Him to look at his Father and say, “Her faith amazes me.“

I’ve quit waiting for “big” ways for that to happen, though such opportunities occasionally present themselves. It was an act of faith to decide I’d learn how to write a novel, and I’m thrilled Bethany House has published one this year and is pubishing another in October. I’m thrilled to be working on a third.

And I did travel to India to encourage Indian nationals to write, and to Cambodia several times to work with the needy.

Still, I doubt those things astonished anyone in heaven. Just believing what he says, really believing it, is a big deal In fact, Jesus called it our work. So I want to live life stepping out of what is natural and comfortable for me and believing in and acting on the astounding truth of His Word. Any maybe it will happen—the answer to this prayer:

“Lord, before my life is over, let my faith, like the centurion’s, astonish you!“

I am impressed by the sensitivity to and devotion for God that made Nehemiah so tenaciously seek to do each thing God put before him to do.

He wasn’t too, too important, too busy, too apathetic.

He wept when he got the news that the wall of Jerusalem was broken down and its gates burned, and despite the fact he held a respected office in the country of Babylon, he returned to help Jerusalem in time of great need.

Armed with letters that would provide protection and materials, he set out to rebuild walls out of the rubble. He was able to convince God’s people it could be done because “the gracious hand of God” was upon Nehemiah and his project.

Even though prominent men of the area mocked and ridiculed them, the walls began to take shape.

Nehemiah encouraged them to build even when they themselves thought their strength was not great enough for the task.

When the wall “reached half its height, for the people did work “with all their heart,“ evil men plotted to come and fight and stir up trouble, but still Nehemiah would not be discouraged.

Instead he divided his working force in half. One half would build, the other half, “equipped with spears, shields, bows and armor”(4:16), would guard those who worked. Nehemiah encouraged them continually, reminding them that “Our God will fight for us”(4:20)!

Nehemiah’s passion extended beyond the building of the wall.

He helped the poor, giving them back their possessions and forbidding usury to be charged against them.

He also restored the law, and even after he returned to his post in Babylon, he revisited Jerusalem to take care of abuse in the “house of God” and remind the people of how they were once again betraying their God.

It seems like whatever he could do for God, he did, no matter what it took. I thank God for such a man and find an important prayer to pray within his story.

Dear Lord, help me know what you want me to do and then help me remember that your gracious hand is upon me, helping me overcome any kind of opposition, including myself, in order to do it!

The list of why life’s not easy is long.

Wouldn’t you agree that making mistakes ranks high on the list?  But sometimes the dreadful experience of making a mistake is not made worse with criticism, but instead an encourager offers help.

He or she does this in many ways, from something as simple as sharing a “war story” or as grandiose as planning another missionary trip.

That was how Barnabas encouraged John Mark.

Paul is one of my major heroes, so if John Mark had failed him so much that Paul didn’t want him to go on the next journey, I probably would have understood and supported his decision. (And told John Mark I’d see him when I got back.)

But Barnabas was willing to give John Mark another chance. So two journeys were made. Paul and Silas went one way, and Barnabas, believing in John Mark, took him and went another.

I should have called my mother Barnabas the day she took off work to watch her sixth grader lead the whole grade school in our National Anthem. When I forgot the words after “O say, can you see?“ and had to finish the rest of it by humming, she sat there smiling and then clapped like I’d won an Oscar when it was over. Her help for me that day falls under “selective amnesia.“

I had a chance to make it up to her in the ninth grade at our Mother/Daughter Banquet, but I forgot the third verse to a four verse story song. Yet she smiled and clapped and still believed I could sing a song that would bring glory to Jesus. And eventually I did. Life is so different when a Barnabas is nearby. I have needed a Barnabas often. Most of us do.

The story of Barnabas and John Mark shows that even the most “profitable” of us sometimes do things that might make someone give up on us. But it also shows the difference a Barnabas makes.

What Barnabas did for John Mark paid off, because later Paul, waiting in a Roman jail to die, sent for his friend Mark: “Get Mark,“ he wrote, “and bring him with you, for he is profitable for my ministry ((II Tim. 4:11).

And so I pray—“Lord, Let me show mercy, for You have shown me mercy. Help me give grace when others have none to give.“