Not Mere Words

Children expect to bury their parents when they’re old, not from the desperate act of suicide. Yet, I was in the ER waiting news of my mother’s death; preparing to arrange her burial.

In disbelief, only 11 days after receiving Jesus as my Savior, my faith was under a fierce assault. I just didn’t understand God; for I was facing the catastrophe of eternal separation from the one person on earth who’d sheltered me from a violent alcoholic dad. How could God allow this? Didn’t He want everyone to come to Him? Mom needed more time.

As the only believer in my family, I was stunned to think that God wasn’t concerned about mom or my little sister. Part of me wanted to pray, but I didn’t know how. Part of me was so broken over Dr. Malone’s news that only life-support was keeping mom alive, I just wanted to cry like my sister Cathy.

But would prayer even matter at this point? I needed to believe it would, but just didn’t know. If only I could pray like my pastor. Ken Lyons always knew how to connect with God.

I walked out of the turbulent waiting room. Dad rocked and spewed foul accusations at mom over her “stunt.” He saw it as a means to criticize and levy guilt upon him for the hard life she’d supposedly had.

Finding a phone I was soon listening to the steady voice of Pastor Ken. Even at 3:00AM his solid faith reached through the lines and soothed my thundering heart. Twenty minutes later he sat cross-legged on the cold tile floor with his Bible opened toward me, reciting Scriptures of power, comfort, promise, and peace. The words calmed my fears, but didn’t silence the sorrow at knowing mom was unsaved.

“May I pray for Mary?  Pastor quietly asked.

“Oh, yes!” I cried. 

Pastor lifted mom to the Father as if he were delivering a wounded child for tender care. I felt drawn toward heaven and tucked beneath the wings of the Most High God. As Pastor wove triumphant stories of healing and my mom’s name into his prayer, a peace I’d never known existed embraced me.

When his prayer ended I still wasn’t comfortable with the inevitable news of mom’s death and eternal separation, but I had changed. Speaking with the Father gives the brokenhearted hope; and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going to happen.

“Dear, we’re taking Mary off life support. Come say good-bye.”

The nurse’s presence and words shocked me to the present. How do these people deliver such devastating declarations daily?

As we stood, Pastor asked, “Don’t you want to pray over your mom first?”

Though I wasn’t sure what good the prayer would do, I knew I needed to pray. Even if nothing occurred, the prayer would bring closure and the beginning of healing.

Approaching mom’s ER room, I yanked Cathy off the floor, daring my dad’s ire. Dad was uncomfortable with the pastor’s presence, but I ignored his slurs.

“Wait. She doesn’t need to see Mary like this,” my dad said.

But I stood my ground and led Cathy to mom’s bedside.

For once my dad had been right. No one should have to see mom like this. Her translucent skin blurred with the stark white sheets in contrast to the infinite black lines connected to rhythmic machines keeping her alive.

“She’s in no pain, Christine.” I started at Dr. Malone’s words, but found no comfort there. “The end will be an easy passing.” With that he left.

Tucking Cathy beside me I grasped mom’s hand, mindful of the tubes, and knelt. Pastor followed suit on her other side. He nodded and I began to pray. He agreed with my words, echoing his own petition for healing and salvation. Depleted, I gave a shaky amen.

“Shall I pray too?” Pastor asked and I nodded.

His words cradled my anguish. He mentioned the Spirit interceding when we didn’t know what to say. That certainly fit me. I murmured my need for help and immediately sensed a presence around us. At first I thought Dr. Malone had returned, but this wasn’t a man. The presence in the room practically embraced my suffering. When our prayers ended, my eyes met Pastor’s. 

“What’s going on?” The three of us jerked up, shocked at the words – spoken by mom.

Scurrying out the door, pastor returned almost instantaneously with Dr. Malone and two nurses. Instructions flew like a bee swarm, with us being pushed into a corner.

Finally, Dr. Malone faced me. “I have no idea what’s happened, Christine. But Mary is … fine.” One simple word that held the promise of her future.

Everyone was mercifully gone as I neared mom again. “Are you ashamed of me?”

“What? No! Why would you ask?”

“I just needed to leave the pain behind.”

“But mom, you don’t have to go through this alone? Let me tell you about Jesus.”

By day’s end all her questions were answered. Finally, she walked into the throne room covered in the robes of Jesus’ redemption, without shame.

A week later mom, Cathy, and I returned home. Dad had left. While that transition was hard, having my mom and sister receive Jesus made the future brilliant.

Asked to share her testimony on Easter Sunday, my mom’s new faith amazed me.

            “Prayer isn’t just a string of words. It’s a living life-line that Jesus’ death and resurrection have secured. Prayer allows us to walk boldly into the Father’s presence; not condemned, but redeemed. For we are His children. Have you ever doubted the power behind prayer? Next time you question this incredible gift, please remember me. I’m here today and my eternity is secured in heaven because three people prayed for me; when I couldn’t pray for myself.”

When mom walked to her seat my heart was overflowing with gratitude for a pastor who asked me to pray over my mom. No, they weren’t mere words – but a living life-line to the Father.