The classroom was a car and the professor was my then five-year-old son. I
thought of that day’s lesson again, a quarter of a century later, as I
read the article about prayer beginning on the front page of this issue.
The classroom was a car and the professor was my then five-year-old son. I
thought of that day’s lesson again, a quarter of a century later, as I
read the article about prayer beginning on the front page of this issue.
We were on the way to visit a family of our church. The son of that family
had received a degree of brain damage at birth. He was a sweet kid twice the
age of my son. While his body was that of a 12-year-old, it was very uncoordinated,
and his mental ability and maturity were that normally of a child younger than
my son. This incongruity apparently troubled my son, and he may have even found
it somewhat frightening.
Ron sat silently as we drove across town but suddenly blurted, “Daddy,
we have to pray for Mike.”
This was a reasonable, understandable statement. Ron regularly heard our church
pray for people with illnesses. His Sunday School teacher led his class in prayer
for people in need. I was thankful Ron understood the rightness of praying for
folks with problems.
“Okay, we will pray for Mike tonight during our prayer time.”
A look of near panic swept across my son’s small face.
“No, Daddy. We have to pray for Mike now.”
The sense of absolute urgency surprised me. But Ron was even more insistent
that we pray for Mike right then.
The traffic light turned to red about that time, so I told Ron we would pray
for Mike, and we did. I have no idea what the motorists beside us thought as
we bowed our heads and prayed. We finished our prayers just as the light turned
green.
My son was relieved, but honestly, I was now concerned. People had prayed for
Mike all of his life, and God in his infinite wisdom had not intervened in Mike’s
most unfortunate condition. Chances were overwhelming that when we arrived at
Mike’s home, he would still be as when we last saw him. I feared this might
damage my child’s faith – to pray as he knew we should, yet for our
prayer not to be answered.
Mike’s father answered the door. Mike was right behind him. His condition
had not changed. I wondered how Ron would react.
Ron and I entered the door. Ron stepped around me and took Mike by the hand.
They disappeared into the playroom as the father and I visited in another room.
I could hear them playing all the time we visited.
I finished my business with Mike’s father and called for Ron to join me
leaving. He walked into the room smiling and telling Mike goodbye. We rode home,
and Ron never mentioned Mike’s unchanged condition. He seemed genuinely
happy to have been with Mike.
I thought about Ron’s experience with prayer for several days, wondering
why Mike’s lack of change in response to our payers had not bothered him
– why, indeed, he seemed relieved to have prayed for Mike and then be with
him as he had been.
Finally, I understood. Ron knew Mike had a need. It may even be Ron did not
fully understand Mike’s condition or how to relate to Mike’s “being
different.” There may have been a touch of fear as we drove toward the
house where the little boy that was “different” lived. He also knew
that he could face the situation with prayer.
Ron’s main concern was not Mike’s healing. His major concern was
to pray for Mike. Once we had prayed for Mike, he was willing to leave the rest
to God, and he apparently never gave a second thought to how God would answer
the prayer.
What a lesson!
Since that lesson from a five-year-old, there have been times when knowing
how to pray became increasingly difficult. I have even hesitated to pray at
times because I did not know if what I prayed would be God’s will.
Usually, when these thoughts filled my mind, I remembered the lesson Ron taught
me that day. He was five. I was his father, a seminary graduate and the pastor
of a university church. But he understood more about prayer and faith that day
than did I, and his lesson has stayed with me. Pray. When in doubt, pray. Pray.