By Stacy Baum
I’ve had two MRIs in the past six weeks. The first — my first ever — was on my hip. And let me tell you, when I walked out of that MRI, I had no intention of ever going back for another one. It was miserable.
So, as I anticipated my second MRI — this time on my neck — I’ll admit I was not excited. In fact, I was pretty sure I would bail at the last minute.
Yes, I have given birth twice. Yes, I cut off my finger once. And yes, I have endured the pain of losing my father. But I still wasn’t sure I could go through with that second MRI.
So, just before I went in, I said a prayer. It went something like this:
Dear God, I know you are really busy, and this is such a small matter. There are people suffering so much worse than I am, but I would really appreciate your help. Please give me peace and calm — just get me through this.
A few minutes later, a surprising calm settled over me as I followed the radiologist into the room. As he strapped me into the neck contraption and made small talk, my heart was beating a little faster than normal, but I felt… well… okay.
And you know what? The MRI was a piece of cake.
Now, I believe that in the world of MRIs, a head scan is supposed to be less pleasant than a hip scan. But in my world, they were barely the same test.
When I got in my car that cold February night, I had a little chat with God. I thanked him profusely and then asked:
Why don’t I ask for your help more often?
When I’m stressed, tired or afraid, why do I think I shouldn’t bother You?
And then it hit me.
Above all else, I value self-sufficiency. If I need sugar, I don’t go next door. If I get a flat tire, I try not to call a friend. If I really need something, I’ll ask my family — but then I’ll thank them 2,000 times.
All that self-sufficiency is getting in the way of my relationship with God.
How can he, the Maker of all things, have time for my little requests? How can I bother the Father of the universe by asking him to make my already easy life just a little easier? Why would I think he has time for me?
It all comes back to my need, my desire, my misplaced value on self-sufficiency.
Of course, I know I am not, in any way, self-sufficient. I know with my whole heart that everything I have is because God has blessed me with it. My faith is strong enough to give him credit for everything. Nothing I have, nothing I have ever done, and nothing I will ever do is because of me. I believe that with my whole heart.
But… to bother God for something as small as getting me through a 20-minute MRI?
God is busy solving the world’s problems. He’s comforting mothers who have just lost their children. He’s interceding on behalf of the brokenhearted. He is doing so much.
And yet… He was there for me.
My husband and I have never had trouble trusting him with the big stuff. Our family, our careers, our health — we’ve been blessed with a bountiful faith. Those are easy. God’s got this.
But a misunderstanding with a neighbor? An unexpected expense? Peace during a non-life-threatening medical procedure? I should be able to handle those on my own, right?
Wrong.
So, as I look ahead to Lent 2025, I’m making a plan.
I’m going to fast from the illusion of self-sufficiency. I’m going to practice self-control by giving up (perceived) control. I’m going to give everything — and I mean everything — to God.
Dear God, help me sleep better. Help me say the right thing. Calm my fears. Give me peace. Help me find my lost keys.
I usually enter Lent with a laundry list of things to do and not do. But this year, I’m focusing on the one thing that will help me most: surrender.
Relieve me of the importance I place on control and self-sufficiency. Help me recognize you in every moment of every day.
Because if he cares enough to be there for me in a cold, sterile MRI room, then surely he cares enough to walk with me through every other moment of my life.
So, as Lent begins, I will pray with intention, surrender with humility, and live with the knowledge that I was never meant to carry it all alone.
And I will remember that even in the hum of an MRI machine, he wants the small stuff.
