He Answers Prayers

“Abba, I’m done.”

Those three words made up the most genuine prayer I’d prayed in years.

Prayer has always come as a bit of a struggle for me. My problem isn’t with time or discipline. Every morning I set aside 30-45 minutes of time alone with God. Sometimes I invite a Christian author to join us via a Bible study book. Other times it’s simply me, the Word, and my journal.

When it comes to praying, however, I’m frequently at a loss for words. I sometimes use prayer books, borrowing the petitions of others. Then, of course, there are the moments I forget to check in with God at all.

Scripture journaling helps focus my mind but does little to guide my prayer time. Trying to write prayers for others just becomes a list of names. “Please be with her, and him, and let’s not forget them. Can you just please be with everyone I love?”

When I’m at the end of myself, however, I find myself praying earnestly from the depths of my heart. Yet these prayers are almost always comprised of only a few short words.

I can’t.

Be my enough.

Help me.

I need you. I’m not okay.

And most commonly, Help my unbelief! I borrowed this request from my friend in Mark 9:24. These short prayers became my lifeline, leading up to my fortieth birthday.

I had made plans to make 2020 unforgettable, epic even. I feared a mid-life crisis and decided a yearlong celebration would help me accept the milestone.

My plans got derailed before the year even began, and I found myself once again uttering these short, desperate prayers. December 31, 2019 found me pouring shots of Nyquil at 11:59 p.m. for both my husband and me. He’d gotten the flu for Christmas and decided to share the love with me.

Heal us, I prayed.

A month earlier, we’d purchased a new home and listed our old one for sale. then my husband’s illness turned into pneumonia, which then led to more serious complications. Between doctors’ office visits and trips to the ER, we balanced home inspections and appraisals.

Every ounce of energy went into doing just enough to get by.

God, please . . . became all I could muster. The surgeons consulted and considered operating on my hemophiliac husband. Because he was diagnosed at a young age with a blood clotting deficiency, surgery of any kind came with additional risks.

Something as routine as having his wisdom teeth removed as a teen required IV infusions of clotting factor and careful oversight by his doctors. The implications of surgery to place a stent and open up his renal artery left me downright terrified.

Jesus . . .

Saying Jesus’ name, over and over, became my prayer that morning. As we waited on the vascular surgeons to consult the hematology doctors, I reached out to family and friends, asking them to pray as well.

Within a few hours, God answered my prayers. Family arrived, sitting with us as we waited to be admitted into a room. Snacks, memes, and conversation provided distractions as we sat with the uncertainty of his treatment plan.

Late that afternoon, we finally received word that the doctors no longer considered surgery an option. Healing didn’t come down like a flash from heaven but instead came in the form of the doctors and nurse who continued to monitor him overnight. We left the next day with a prescription and a prognosis of gradual healing over the next six months to a year.

As the danger of my husband’s condition passed, we started to consider how we would manage packing and moving by the closing date looming before us.

I’m drowning and I need help.

Once again, God sent family and friends to act as his hands and feet. Without this tangible answer to my prayers, we would not have been ready to pack our worldly possessions and move up the road.

My sister stepped in to make decisions my overwhelmed brain could not deal with, which amounted to most of them. My mom and dad delivered a hot meal and groceries to our doorstep. When moving day arrived, my mom once again showed up, food in hand, ready to feed the small army who turned up to help.

Despite my attempts at crafting eloquent prayers, it’s my humble cries to God that seem most effective. In those moments of desperation, I spoke prayers proclaiming my weakness and utter dependence on him.

I’m grateful for those answered prayers, for those people who loved God by showing me his love in action.

“For I was hungry and you gave Me something to eat;

I was thirsty and you gave Me something to drink;

I was a stranger and you took Me in;

I was naked and you clothed Me;

I was sick and you took care of Me;

I was in prison and you visited Me.”

“Then the righteous will answer Him, ‘Lord, when did we see You hungry and feed You, or thirsty and give You something to drink? When did we see You a stranger and take You in, or without clothes and clothe You? When did we see You sick, or in prison, and visit You?’ And the King will answer them, ‘I assure you: Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of Mine, you did for Me.’” (Matt. 25:35-40 HCSB)

Brooke Justus Fradd celebrates the small wins in life while always being on the lookout for the next great adventure she can share with her husband, Jay. On her blog, Awkwardly Graceful, she shares the moments in life she hopes will become treasured memories.

Photograph © Jace & Afsoon, used with permission