Prayers that avail much

This post and the one that follows have been in a file, unpublished, for the past two years. I always meant to share them, but kept being distracted away. As another Thanksgiving has come and gone, finally, here is another example of God’s faithfulness and the unlimited power of prayer.

On November 7, 2017, I got a text from my daughter, Kellie. It began, “Say a prayer for us.”

Texts starting with those ominous words can almost bring my heart to a full stop these days. I remember sending out a similarly beginning text almost two years earlier on December 6, 2015 about Roma’s fall. And Kellie had sent me one a month later when her fourth child, age three, had pulled a shopping cart over on herself, breaking the largest bone in her tiny body, her femur. So, texts beginning with requests for prayers scare me.

I breathlessly scanned her text, seeing Jack’s name first, her oldest, age ten. I skipped ahead too quickly and read “I backed over.”

“Oh Dear Lord,” my panic escalated, before I focused myself and reread more deliberately. Her actual text said, “Say a prayer for us. Going to get Jack from karate, I backed over Fenrir (their six month-old puppy.) Then she explained that she was unsuccessfully trying to get in touch with her husband, Mike, and ended, “I just put Fenrir in the van with us-he is whimpering :'(“

After my immediate relief that it wasn’t my grandson Kellie backed over with her van, my heart was crushed for my daughter, my grandchildren, and my young granddog.  Six months old. The family was crazy about the newest addition to the family, three days younger than baby Joel.

I almost couldn’t breathe. She mentioned that she didn’t just hit the dog, but ran over him, hoping at first when she felt the bump that it was a toy in the driveway.

I went straight upstairs to my War Room and dropped to my knees, my hands clasped on the ottoman where I sit to dress when this room is merely a closet.  

“Dear Lord, please save that puppy.” I repeated over and over.  Kellie had just mentioned a day or two earlier that she was feeling a spiritual attack, a dark cloud. They had headed into town earlier, taking Jack to karate lessons, and she had even said then, “Look out Fenrir,” warning the dog if he were anywhere in the vicinity. She backed up slowly so the dog would have time to move out of the way. She recalled thinking how terrible it would be if they ran over the laid-back puppy who seemed oblivious to the danger of big moving things operated by distracted humans.

Kellie had left home without her diaper bag which contained her wallet. At the stop for pizza, she was able to scrounge enough change from the van to buy dinner for her brood of six before dropping Jack off at his karate lessons.  Then she retraced her route, twenty minutes back home to retrieve her needed wallet.  It was on this return trip when she ran over her pet.

I felt the fear and grief of the occupants in that van as surely as if I sat among the crying children and panicked mother and whining dog.  I had not yet met the snow white Great Pyrenees, named for a Norse god.

“LORD, please let that dog be okay. Lord, they are such a Godly young family, please protect them from this awful grief. Lord, heal his injuries and spare Fenrir’s life,” I groaned through tears.

Suddenly, I was overcome with a new insight. This is prayer! This is how I prayed for Roma. Remember the miracles. Yes, Roma was in Heaven now, but his earthly absence did not diminish for a second the dramatically answered prayers I had laid bare before God. And God always heard those prayers. And He ALWAYS showed up.

All this urgency and pleading over a dog? I thought. Why don’t I pray like this every day? Am I aware that God is actually hearing me and working behind the scenes to make Himself known? Lord, forgive me for my weak faith and puny prayers. I console myself by saying I pray all the time. I pray without ceasing, I comfort myself when I don’t spend designated time alone with God. Sure, throughout the day I throw up careless prayers, naming names of a few in need, not really considering that the GOD of THE UNIVERSE is there to hear me, and all I’ve got is a half-hearted wish list for Him.

I knew this was about much more than just a dog. I was praying for a family I dearly love. A familiar grief was flashing back to me.  I wanted them protected from grief, even though I knew that was an impossible hope. I wanted sweet and gentle Kellie to be saved from any guilt of an accident, of not checking first before gearing the van into reverse. She was in a hurry and distracted. Understandably. It wasn’t her fault, but she would blame herself. And the trauma of the children! They all felt the bump. Kellie was hoping it was a stray bicycle she had run over. When she opened the door of the van to check, she immediately heard their pet’s whimpers before she saw his still form. She scooped up the heavy dog, as he yelped, and she laid him in the passenger’s seat. She was hoping she had run over one of his legs, or maybe more than one. I grabbed onto that hope. If the injury was his leg, or legs, veterinarians set broken legs. Broken legs heal.

Perhaps my anguish for them was a reflex reaction to my own lingering grief, and my futile efforts to control accidents.

I didn’t hear anything for an hour. Was no news good news? My pacing and prayers continued. “Please Lord, heal that puppy, put him all back together, and save Kellie’s family from grief. You, Lord, are capable of miracles.” I knew this was true. I had been a witness and recipient of answered prayers too many times to dismiss their reality.

Another ten minutes passed, and I heard an incoming text. I grabbed my phone.

Kellie:  “Fenrir is fine! He’s not even limping now–Praise God!”

Further discussion with Kellie filled in my questions. After her last text, they had hurried to pick up Jack from karate. Jack came to the van as Kellie was calling ahead to the animal hospital. She motioned him to a back seat. He was unaware of the wild activity since he had been delivered to his lessons an hour earlier. Around every turn and bump on the way to the veterinarian clinic, the injured dog cried. So did the children.

 The attendants at the animal hospital brought the injured dog into the vet’s on a gurney. Kellie and my grandchildren waited impatiently in the waiting room, silently, anxiously praying.  After 20 minutes, the veterinarian walked Fenrir out on a leash. The dog was waging his tail. The staff teasingly accused the smiling pup, “Faker!” He wasn’t even limping.

Kellie was busy getting her exhausted family and pet home, so she didn’t have time then to indulge my astounded amazement. I went right back to my War Room and thanked God for His loving Mercy that evening. Of course, I am keenly aware that God doesn’t always answer our prayers as we would like. But He gets to answer them any way He likes, and His answer that night made me giddy with joy for my family and grand-pup.  

I would need that renewed confidence that God hears our fervent prayers and answers them extravagantly a few days later, when, again, I would be on my knees, begging God for another miracle.

Conclusion, God’s extravagant graces