prayer encounters

Teena’s sister-in-law, Bonnie, went into the hospital to have a fairly routine procedure.  While she was in the hospital she had a massive stroke.  She went into a coma. 

That night I got a call from Teena.  She said, “We need another one of those miracle prayers!”  She explained what had happened to Bonnie.  We prayed. 

Teena and her family went to Dallas to be with Bonnie in the hospital. 

They opened up the top of her skull to relieve the swelling, but it wasn’t working.  Things were going downhill quickly and the CT scans were not good.  It looked like mush. 

Monday night, Teena called me in tears to tell me that the doctors had recommended they take Bonnie off life support.  She was not brain dead, but there was nothing close to normal activity in her brain.  She would never come out of the coma. 

I’ve prayed for healing many times over the last few years and I know that it doesn’t always work out the way I hope.  I chalked this up to God’s mysterious will.  He knows what he is doing.  And yes, people do die. 

Teena asked if I might pray for her husband Ronnie, Bonnie’s brother.  She handed him the phone.  I prayed for peace and comfort.  

The next morning the phone rang as I had expected.  I knew that they were taking her off life support sometime that night. 

“Pastor Paul, you won’t believe it!!”  It was Teena.  “They were doing a final CT scan before they took her off support and her brain function is almost normal!”  What?

Now, I have been surprised by God a few times over the years, but this takes the cake.  I was shocked and speechless.  I had to ask her to repeat it. 

I had thrown in the towel, but Teena never did.  She told me that after the doctor had given the bad news the night before her family started making funeral plans, but she wouldn’t let them.  She shooed them out of the room and she continued to pray for healing.  By now, hundreds of people were praying all around the country through Facebook. 

The question now was would Bonnie wake up from her coma.   The next Thursday, the family entered her room to find her sitting up in bed, wide awake and recognizing everyone.  The staff then took her breathing tube out.  

Today she lives.  She is paralyzed on her left side and has short-term memory issues.  She lives in a nursing home.  She gets to see her family, including grandchildren, regularly.  She has joy.   

She says that she could hear almost everything that was being said when she was in the coma.  She said, “I heard the doctors say I wasn’t going to make it, but I didn’t believe it.”

This miraculous recovery affected more than Bonnie.  All that prayed for Bonnie that night got to experience the glory of God in this healing. 

Teena and this group of Facebook friends call themselves “prayer warriors”.  Anytime one of them needs prayer, they send out a message and they all drop what they are doing and pray. 

Who knows what the next chapter of this story will be?

There may not be a more anxious place than a Neonatal ICU. I served as a chaplain in one for a summer. Some stories don’t end well, but I remember a baby that was born at 25 weeks…Angel.

At 25 weeks the lungs are not ready to breathe on their own. Baby Angel had a breathing tube and a feeding tube and they kept him in a incubator. They had to regularly put ointment on him because at that age the skin is not quite ready for the air.

His mother came almost every day. She spoke very little English. The first time I met her I had a translator with me. I prayed for the baby and for her.

After the initial visit, I didn’t need a translator. She knew who I was and why I was there. I would pray and she would make the sign of the cross.

I didn’t see her everyday, but I saw Angel everyday watching him fight for his life. I remember that tiny little chest working so hard. He was red all over and peeling like he had a bad sunburn.

Some days the doctors were hopeful, someday they were not.

Around week 30 the mother told me that she wanted Angel to be baptized. She was Catholic, but she had not been to Mass in years and did not know a priest. She asked if I would do it. I was honored.

The mother, her husband, her mother, her sister, a translator a nurse, and myself gathered around the incubator. We prayed holding hands. I read some scripture and asked the Spirit to descend upon the dropper full of water. I was not allowed to touch Angel because of the delicacy of his skin.

I reached my gloved hand into the incubator and held the blessed dropper above his tiny head covered with a mass of dark hair. “I baptize you Angel in the name of the Father” -drip- “And of the Son” -drip- “and of the Holy Spirit” -drip- “Amen”. I prayed for God’s protection and for further growth of both body and spirit.

There were tears all around. In those tears were hope- drip-anxiety- drip- and love- drip. The daily visits and prayers continued…then I got a call.

It was my last week at the hospital. Angel was born a few weeks before I arrived that summer. It had been 11 weeks of praying for Angel. My heart beat hard as I picked up the phone. Most calls from the NICU are not good.

The mother and father were in the NICU and they wanted to see me. It was Angel’s last day in the hospital.

I entered the room where the family awaited me. They said the only thing they knew I understood, “Gracias!” as they handed the living and healthy Angel to me. I held him with my own hands and said, “Gracias, O Dios!”

I baptized him again with my tears. Drip- drip- drip.

I met one of my favorite lunch partners, Josh, at an Ethiopian restaurant.  He is very energetic and always comes with fresh stories from his world travels. 

He comes along side missionaries and helps capture their ministry by video and photography.  At the same time, I always have some local ministry that I am equally passionate about.  As a result our conversations are usually loud and nonstop.  I often wonder as we are talking how annoying we must be, especially in a tiny little restaurant like the one we were in on this day.

Josh went to wash up.  I started to go to the buffet, but I decided to wait for Josh to come back.  I sat and waited. Frankly,  I usually just start stuffing my face.   

The restaurant was empty except for me and Josh and a woman sitting by herself.  Josh struck up a conversation with the owner.  And of course, Josh had traveled to this man’s home town somewhere in Ethiopia.  The restaurant was really struggling and he and his wife were barely making it.  He was concerned that his faith as a Muslim was hurting his business. 

I asked if we could pray for his business and his family.  He accepted.  We prayed for new customers and blessings for his family.  He thanked us graciously and went back to work. 

After a moment or two, the woman, the only other customer in the place, approached us.  She said, “I knew you were Christians when you waited for your friend to come back from the bathroom.  You rarely see manners like that anymore.”  My mother would be so proud. 

She continued, “I was really touched when you prayed for the restaurant owner.  I work for a retirement home and it is often depressing to me.  Today has been a particularly tough day.   Your conversation with each other and the way you prayed for that man really made my day!” 

Josh jumped up out of his seat and said, “I’ll be right back!”  He left the building and went to his car.  He came back with a stack of styrofoam-backed posters.  The picture was of a beautiful scene in South Africa near the by the sea. On the poster were words of hope. 

One of Josh’s many little ministries is to widows and widowers.  He turns his own photographs into posters and puts scripture on them to give to widows.   They are truly inspiring.  He always keeps a stack in his trunk.

He said, “Take these back with you and give them to whoever needs them the most.”  She was touched.  She took her posters and went to pay her bill.  We watched as she showed them to the restaurant owner.  He exclaimed, “I have been there!  That is my home my Africa!  Where did you get this?”

She explained and gave one to him.   He needed it.