As a child, I lived for eight years in the city of Torreón, and I clearly remember times when my brother and I would spend time listening to my mom tell stories from when we were little. My mom delighted in sharing these anecdotes, even though we had already asked the same questions, and she had also told us the same thing. These were moments that fostered closeness, laughter, and smiles.
Since my brother is almost five years older than me, he would remember some stories and add his own comments and version of events.
One of the stories my mom told was from when I was just born. She says I was a big eater and grew up quickly. She said she gave me the recommended amount of milk in my bottle, and I drank it quickly, and once I finished it, I would start crying at the top of my lungs because I was still hungry.
Soon after, my mom started giving me two different servings in two different bottles. I suppose she did this to monitor the amount and avoid overfeeding. The result was that as I grew, I needed more.
At the same time, my brother was also attentive to the moments when I finished the bottle. My mom said I didn’t finish it completely, that I left a small portion at the end. And it was my brother who was “hunting” for what I left in the bottle so he could drink it. I suppose there was something appealing about the bottle for him, since my mom said that this always happened.
Like any mother with young children, my mom greatly valued her sleep, which was constantly interrupted by the normal needs of that stage.
Weekends were highly valued, as she didn’t have to get up so early to take my brother to school and be with my dad before he left for work.
Something my parents talked about, almost laughing out loud and with a memory of profound tiredness, was when I was already walking and halfway talking. As I recall, they said I hardly ever woke up at night from hunger, which meant that when I got up in the morning, I woke up VERY hungry. By then, I no longer slept in a crib, so I could get up on my own.
In those mornings, I would get up, go to my parents’ bedroom, and say:
“I want my bottle, I want my bottle, I want my bottle, I want my bottle, I want my bottle…”
And it didn’t matter if my parents were more asleep than awake, tired, or sleepless. They said I kept saying it louder and faster.
I asked for my bottle until they gave it to me.
In the Gospel, Jesus says:
“Ask and it will be given to you.”
Obviously, as a child, I had no problem believing that I would be given my milk, hahaha.
And you, do you believe that whatever you ask for can be given to you?
Jesus speaks to parents, asking them if they would give their children bad things when they ask for food. However, how do you feel about asking?
It’s one thing for God to give us, but it’s another thing to ask.
There was a time when I heard a lot about how God won’t necessarily grant everything you ask for, and that was followed by a lot of circumstances to consider. With all that context, I missed the main message: that I can ask.
The how, when, and where of giving will be God’s answer in due time.
For you, what is it like to ask for what you long for? Do you hesitate to ask?
Or…
Do you believe it can be given to you?
And even more…
Can you receive it? Do you want to receive it?
If the Spirit leads you, share with Jesus the Carpenter how you feel when asking for something in your prayer. And perhaps you can remember that God will give you.
Marisol
P.S. We can hear about the love with which God gives you in the readings for the 17th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year/Cycle C.
