Through the Door – The Power of Prayer

Life has a way of transporting us from one moment to the next in the blink of an eye. A certain smell, a song, a glimpse of a photograph can make our senses come alive and take flight like a mother bird from its nest in search of that elusive something that will feed our soul. As I walked toward the sound of frantic whispers, I knew who it was, and looking back I must admit I knew what he was desperately pleading for before I ever stepped through the door to my bedroom. I slowly crept closer to the door, holding my breath and carefully placing each foot down as though I might avoid the inevitable land mine I was sure awaited me through that half open door. In slow motion I crossed the threshold, and what I saw is forever ingrained in my heart.

My seven-year old son was on his knees next to my bed, tiny hands barely reaching the top of the mattress, clasped together in fervent prayer. He begged God to allow us to remain in our home in Texas, rather than have to board a plane the next morning and head back to Puerto Rico where his daddy’s job awaited. As I knelt down beside him, and placed my arm around him, my own tears fell. My heart broke to see my little boy hurting, but it also swelled with pride that in his moment of need he sought comfort in prayer. He didn’t seek out his father, his sister, or even myself. He got down on his knees and prayed. We may be miles away from the tiny church we fell in love with eight years ago, but my son has carried the power of prayer with him across an ocean and hopefully a lifetime.

photo credit: littlemisswordy
photo credit: littlemisswordy

As I exited my bedroom, and gently closed the door behind me I entered a bedroom I haven’t stepped foot in since I was seventeen years old. The queen size bed with the faded brown comforter still held the small tear in the bottom right corner I tried to hide from my mom after my siblings and I repeatedly bounced on the bed in an attempt to touch the ceiling. If I look up I can see the water stains on that very ceiling, the same ones my dad and I would make up stories about when I would cuddle up beside him in bed. One day it was a ship at sea, another day a fire-breathing dragon, each a lesson in possibilities. Yet, the vision of my son on his knees has taken me back to the day I realized my dad wasn’t invincible. I was just a little older than my son is now, the house was quiet, and not one to miss a nap with my dad I walked toward my parents bedroom in search of him.

As I approached the door to the bedroom I could hear frantic whispers. I inched toward the door, not daring to enter, but needing to confirm what I knew in my heart. I saw my father on his knees on the side of the bed, tears streaming down his face, begging the Lord to save his older brother who was dying of cancer. I stood rooted in place though my legs wanted to run the other way, down the hall, out the front door, and back in time to a place where I still held the innocent impression that my father, my hero, was untouchable.

Through the years, I have held that vision of my father as he knelt in prayer and surrendered himself to a higher power. It taught me that none of us are invincible, that in our darkest hour we need to believe in something, that the power of prayer can give us hope no matter whether or not we get the answer we so desperately seek.

This post was written in response to the Weekly Challenge: Through the Door

33 thoughts on “Through the Door – The Power of Prayer

  1. This was the first thing I woke up to this morning. I saw the lovely photograph and wondered what you wrote. I have tears in my eyes as a mother and a daughter.
    Since my son was 5 I would ask and continue to ask ” Buddy, what are your 3 favorite things about yourself?” After almost 17 years they remain the same 1. My relationship with God 2. My intellect 3. My athlete abilities. You would think over time they would change, but he is such a strong and amazing rock. I used to and still tell him, I’m so glad God made me his mommy. I’m also glad that years ago in a little town in Texas, I was given I title that is just that a title, of a praying boys Godmother.

    1. Beautiful Amy Workman! You are an amazing mother that has instilled such great values in your baby boy. Although he may currently tower over you, he will forever look up to you for that. I’m hoping to do the same with my little man.

  2. Once again, your writing is so moving and inspirational. Hope your son finds some peace and happiness.

    “Every great movement of God can be traced to a kneeling figure…”

    1. Awwhhh, thank you for your kind words. My little guy is usually pretty mellow, but it’s been a rollercoaster for all of us the last few years not really knowing which place to call home.
      “Every great movement of God can be traced to a kneeling figure…” —- I love this, and I love that he sought comfort this way.

  3. Beautiful. Prayer is where we go when we are weakest to become strongest. Thank you for sharing these powerful illustrations of earnest prayers.

  4. These writing challenges are MADE for you! You always come up with the most beautiful things. Truly truly wish I could write like this! This was both powerful and beautiful.

    1. Thank you. Something about these challenges inspires me even when I think I’m not going to participate. I’ll sit on it for a few days, then suddenly I’m writing away, being challenged on new levels, traveling through time, and sifting through memories. Sometimes you just have to let yourself go and not over think it. You’ll surprise yourself.

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