Sometimes I feel like a child, tugging at his father's leg. "Daddy, I want this, Daddy, I want that. Daddy, give me these things." Only it is a man tugging desperately at the foot of a holy God. Should I be so bold? Only the things I ask aren't bad: Give me peace, give me joy, deepen my dependence on you, give me integrity and freedom from sin.
These things I ask for incessantly. Does God hear? Does He want to give? Does He delight in me? Or am I like the crying child whose mother brings him a drink of water in the night just to stop the crying? Sure, the mother loves her child, but the crying tries her patience.
Am I thus with God? But still I am like that child—helpless. I cannot get the drink of water for myself, especially the kind of water that I seek. Helpless—just a beggar who barely knows that for which he ought to beg. Do what you will with me; I have nothing to give, except my life—to the Father, through the Son, and by the Spirit.