A recent sermon had me reflecting on what happened.
In April 2014 Amos developed pneumonia when he drank milk into his lungs. We had been working on his trunk muscles then, and after a week at the hospital Amos muscle tone regressed and we were back to square one.
I did what I could – I prayed.
In December 2014 Amos underwent open-heart surgery.
I prayed.
In May last year a bout of viral infection struck Amos’ lungs. He underwent a strict 2-week regime of medication and numerous nebuliser doses. It didn’t help. His lung collapsed and he was back at the PICU. After a week there he scarcely had the determination to even crawl.
I prayed.
When we came home one night from the hospital, wearied and spent, Joel told us he was upset with us because we weren’t spending enough time with him.
I prayed when I was helpless against the wave of infections that kept going at Amos; when his weight and cognitive development took a nosedive, when I watched his little body all limp and wired up on a bed much too large for him.
I prayed for healing.
I prayed for strength.
I prayed for Joel’s understanding as we had to spend long hours a day at the hospital.
I invited friends to pray along.
And things got better. During the last infection, Amos responded well to the treatment. We brought him home and over the next couple of months Amos fought off the last of the infection. His training got back on track, his muscle tone gradually improved and he began soaking up all the sign language we could teach him.
Our worries grew less. The days that came after were illness-free except for the occasional sneeze and sniffle. His heart was faring well. We cheered when Amos started standing and cruising again. His appetite improved and he turned chubby and cuddly. I gave thanks. I was exceedingly relieved and joyful.
Then something awful happened.
I stopped praying.
I stopped talking to God and guess who He got to remind me?
One day, out of the blue, Joel volunteered to pray over dinner. After his usual thanksgiving for the food he surprised me when he went on to pray for his brother. He prayed precisely for God to help his brother sleep better so that he could grow strong.
I was overwhelmed – both by the joy and guilt that came with this revelation. I had left God on the sidelines. I felt I no longer needed His help and such a tragedy it was.
I am glad that His Spirit convicted me in the nick of time, that I was precious enough to Him that He should care to chide me so gently and beautifully.
I was reminded that prayer isn’t about rubbing Aladdin’s lamp for a wish and it isn’t about dialling an emergency hotline either.
Constant prayer is about enjoying the infinitely precious and unbreakable relationship with the God who loves you, who suffered, died and now lives for you.
It reminds our unappreciative hearts that this loving God provides and leads regardless of your circumstance; that He always have and always will.
"Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer." Rom 12:12
Photo credit Keith Riley-Whittingham via Foter.com