A funny from Mom’s Got Ink popped up in all caps on my Facebook page this morning. “WHAT I’VE LEARNED ABOUT RAISING BOYS: IF YOU KEEP THEM BUSY, THEY’RE FINE. IF YOU LET THEM GET BORED, THEY’LL DISMANTLE YOUR HOUSE BOARD BY BOARD.”
Time travel back with me to 1985.
Randy walked through the front door as I passed him on my way out.
“Where’re you going?” His eyebrows squeezed together.
“They’re all yours.” I gestured to two miniature firefighters seated in the dining room pretending their hot dogs, pulled outside the buns, were hoses. “I’m going to sit in the car.”
“What? It’s cold and dark outside.”
I grabbed a coat. “See ya.” I sent a gentle smile to the father of my children and planted a cursory pat on his back. “You can do this,” I said. “The sirens have stopped blaring, and the blaze is nearly out, unless of course it gets rekindled. You’re the fire chief—best get in there fast.”
He laughed. I darted outdoors.
I scooted into the front passenger side of the Nissan, rubbed my hands together, and blew tepid breath on my already cold fingers. The back of my head relaxed against the seat and my eyes batted shut. Tranquility. My mind traveled in an instant to all the things in life bigger than me, the current one especially. Who do I think I am trying to adopt an infant or toddler from Korea?
The cold in the car faded and warmth inundated me. My Heavenly Father was close. Touchable.
Father God? Why do I have this big thing inside me that never seems satisfied? This drive to do more. This—this ambitious-like motivation to do things large and impossible. Where does it come from? Why won’t it go away? Because honestly, I want to have it… and, I don’t. It’s challenging. Why can’t I be like others I know who are satisfied with ordinary?
My skin tingled. Who expects God to answer? And in one short breath of a moment?
“Your Father made a request of Me.”
My biological father had been dead since I was a baby, but I knew deep down that’s who God meant. I was no great student of theology, but something seemed off, my hearing this. Was God saying that my Dad, in heaven’s home, had made a request over my life? Was that even possible? Confused, I mentally filed this thought and told very few people about it over the years, but it never ever left me.
Present time: This summer the reality of what God had told me that long ago night hit me square. My daughter-in-law’s sister was in a personal struggle. I sent her a message, an authentic little love note from the Spirit of God. I reminded her of how her dad, Erwin, prior to his death a few years before, had faithfully prayed for his children. Every weekend he met with his prayer partner and they prayed over every aspect of their children’s lives. Erwin was faithful. Thoughtful. Consistent. And it hit me!
Before my mom carried me in the womb, she and my dad were aware he’d not live much longer. Having had rheumatic fever at age fifteen, his heart was weak. And while I was cradled inside Mom, he actually stopped breathing and had to be resuscitated on his way to the hospital. He left us for heaven when I was fifteen months old.
I recalled what God said to me in 1985. “Your Father made a request of Me.”
Crystal clear. My Dad prayed for me.
If sound waves never die—but exist forever—my Dad’s prayers over his children continue cycling over our lives.
Erwin’s prayers over his children travel on and on. The Heavenly Father’s ears remain open to every one of them—then, now, and always. Just like these faithful men, their prayers are an eternal, trusted legacy. Prayer, mercy, and grace are not mere words that sit dormant. They abound with life, force, movement, and infinity.
So, what about our prayers? Are we praying? Sowing them? Our prayers will outlive us—continuing to travel this planet and reaching God’s ears long after we are gone. Let us PRAY.
Morning Glory: Listen for His Whispers