By Wayne Allensworth
Now is my soul troubled; and what shall I say? Father, save me from this hour: but for this cause came I unto this hour. John 12:27
On the day my father collapsed in my house, which led to a painful and long dreaded decision on my part, I talked to our pastor, and then to a cardiologist. Daddy had trouble breathing. The emergency room staff gave him something that stabilized his failing heart and he rested. He occasionally opened his eyes and silently looked around, then closed them again. When I spoke to him later, I told him there was nothing the doctors could do for him. He was calm and said that he was alright. He said he knew this time had to come. And he was alright.
The decision not to perform surgery on a man my father’s age — he was 90— and in his condition was not one I had to think about very long. It was all the time before that, when I knew a day like that would come that had troubled me. I had prayed for courage and for guidance. But I didn’t really know if my prayer would be answered. So many prayers of other people in dire straits had not been. At least it appeared that way. But I prayed anyway.
We moved him to hospice care with a winter storm approaching. I followed the ambulance to the facility, which, I was relieved to discover, was warm, and comfortable, not sterile or cold. My father sat up in his bed and ate something and I took his hand and told him I would go now but would come back when the storm had passed. He nodded his head, and I told him his family loved him.
The storm hit while I was driving home. The old pickup truck I was driving was on its last legs and it stalled several times on the crowded freeway. Traffic piled up and black clouds were spitting sleet. The roadway was slick. I skidded several times but stayed on the road. And I pleaded, “Let me make it home. Please let me make it home.”
I wouldn’t see my father alive again. The storm lingered and the roads froze over, preventing my return. When I heard the phone ring late at night, I knew he was gone. Peacefully, they told me, in his sleep. Like my mother, he would never wake up. When we buried him, I tried to honor him with words, but the real honor had been to care for him. His gratitude and good humor got us through it. It had been a trial for the both of us. Daddy had carried on, while I had acted very much against my own nature by dealing, as calmly as I could manage, with doctors and hospitals and pharmacies. I fired one cardiologist and found another.
My mother had been gone for a while then. And now Bill was gone, too. I felt that I had tried to do my duty for them. I couldn’t help but think I should have stayed with my father and not tried to go home that afternoon. But I was alright. For this cause came I unto this hour …
Nearly 20 years before, my wife and I had decided to come home from Northern Virginia. It was time. Our parents were aging and ailing. If my children were to know them, it was time to go.
All of us will have our hour of trial, a time of decision. Our lives are the preparation for it. The hour is always nigh. That was something I had pondered for years, ever since my mother and father had both survived bouts with cancer.
I prayed over it many times. And I wondered what prayer meant and who was listening. But something told me to do it anyway. If eternity isn’t changed by a prayer, I reasoned, then maybe the person doing the praying is changed. And that can have repercussions all around.
The longer I live and the more I learn, even with so many questions left unanswered, I have kept praying.
Some readers might remember my previous references to the efficacy of prayer. I have specifically mentioned a lengthy volume called Irreducible Mind: Toward a Psychology for the 21st Century. The collection of papers was co-authored and edited by psychologists Edward and Emily Kelly, and includes data on “faith healing,” illnesses apparently cured with the help of prayer. The key to all the examples researchers cited was belief. Belief on the part of those praying. Belief and receptivity to the prayers by the ill. Something was happening in a vast realm of consciousness of which we are a part.
Modern physics seem to indicate that all things are connected in a universe of interlocking fields. Fields of matter. Fields of energy. And as some have suggested, fields of consciousness. Apparently, a small shift in one of those fields can echo across the universe. Like a rock thrown into a pond that causes ripples across the surface of the water.
I still don’t know the answers to all the questions one may have about prayer, and never will, at least not on this side of eternity. And prayer does get to be burdensome sometimes. If you try to think of all the people in need, of everyone who is in trouble, who is in danger, who is suffering … well, the list of these in need of prayer can be overwhelming.
We can always fall back on the simple prayer Jesus gave us as an example. It is not specific or pointed. It doesn’t ask for wealth or “success.” In the name of God the Father, it asks for fundamentals. Daily bread. Forgiveness. Protection from temptation and evil. When you don’t know what to pray, or what to ask for, return to these simple words that are as moving as any we have. From Matthew 6:5-15 as rendered in the King James version:
Our Father, which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever. Amen.
The days pass, and so shall our hour. Remember the 23rd Psalm. It’s one that comes to me often, unbidden, materializing in my mind like a refreshing breeze.
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.
We live in a time of uncertainty. Our era is as troubled as any ever has been. Pray and recall that this very night your soul may be required of thee.
Chronicles contributor Wayne Allensworth is the author of The Russian Question: Nationalism, Modernization, and Post-Communist Russia, and a novel, Field of Blood.
Please consider supporting American Remnant: A green “Donate Today” button has been added at the end of each article (see below) appearing on the website. If you value what AR is doing, please consider supporting the website financially. $5, $10, or any amount that you can afford. Regular donations would especially be appreciated. Thank you!
 | ReplyForwardAdd reaction |
