Let me go back to the beginning of that for me. On May 13, 1981, Pam was very pregnant with our first child. (I know you can’t be “very” pregnant; you know what I mean.) That day, there were hints at contractions. In the evening those became more intense, and we made our way to Sleepy Eye Hospital.
I was in the middle of planting that spring, and I was tired with work to do the next day. I remember thinking I would be home by midnight with wife and child resting peacefully in town. It was my first lesson in learning how wrong I could be about children.
Pam and I had taken Lamaze classes, and I was prepared to coach my wife to a successful birth. Hours later, Pam and the baby I had yet to meet were having the worst nights of their lives. This birth was not going to go quickly.
At some point in the difficult labor, my “team” was no longer interested in my coaching. It became a long night of uselessness for me. I was clearly the least important person in the room behind mother, child, doctor, and nurse.
I took breaks in the waiting room, pacing some and dozing fitfully a couple times. During one of those late hours, it occurred to me to pray. I prayed really hard. I thought it was the hardest I’d ever prayed in my life. Sometimes prayer is vague: something like “God, your will be done.” This time I was very specific. I was pleading with God for a healthy wife and child.
It was the beginning of praying for that child who would be named Anna. I may have prayed for her in the womb. But that night at the hospital, I began to consider her as a person independent of my wife. Anna finally did arrive, by C-section about 9:00 the next morning. There were complications for mother and child, but both would be good after recovery.
Prayers answered? Yes. With credit to the medical staff. But aren’t a lot of prayers answered here on Earth with the assist of skilled and talented people?
If you are one who prays, you know intercessional prayers aren’t always given such a happy ending as mine that night. I remember vividly my mother praying for my brother who was dying. Dean was diagnosed with an aggressive brain tumor in 1972 which would kill him a year and a half later. There were many nights I can picture my mom in her living room chair, her hands diligently working the beads of her rosary.
I’m sure my mother prayed that her son would live. That prayer was not answered affirmatively. At the end of his life, I suspect her prayers shifted to a peaceful and gentle death. She also likely prayed for strength for herself. If you are a believer in prayer, you know prayers are not always “answered,” at least as we perceive it. Faith leads us to accept they are “answered” in other ways: for Dean, for our family, for the community around him. Who knows the ways my mom’s prayers lifted us?
It occurs to me that my mom was modeling a behavior. I have prayed for the child born that morning in 1981 and the two who followed. I have prayed pretty much every day, although some days it might only be a passing thought.
As parents, we understand our children’s lives won’t always be easy or comfortable. We don’t pray for that. We know that often growth comes in tough times. Our prayer is that they handle those, take what lessons there are, and become the best person they can be.
I mentioned the evolution in our relationship over time with children. Prayer evolves within that. As babies and toddlers, our prayers are almost solely on health. We ask the Lord to hold them close and keep them safe.
At the top of the steps upstairs in our house, a painting hung for years. It was of a guardian angel with her arms above a little girl exploring in a garden. I don’t know about the theology of that painting. But the warmth and care that it expresses were comforting. Our prayers for our children when they are young are indicators of our love, attention, and presence in their lives. We want to be like that angel in the painting.
As the child grows, there is the gradual letting go. At first this is letting them go up the steps. Then it might be letting them go out in the yard. Later, it means sending them off in the car their first time. We still pray for their safety, but now we ask for God’s guidance and wisdom upon them. Step by step, they are leaving our side and becoming the world’s. We are proud of them. But it’s scary as hell, too.
Our three children are adults, away from the home, far away for one of them. They are all in transitions. Each is facing challenges. Anna is in Rochester, returning to school to become a nurse anesthetist. Anna is mother to Levi, another generation of prayer-recipient. Abby is in France for a second year of graduate school after a year in Spain. Ezra is in Montana, beginning a career, along with National Guard duties.
We try to help each of them with funds as we can which are graciously accepted and advice which is sometimes accepted. Those things they know about. Prayers for them are less obvious. Occasionally I mention that I am praying for them. It is part of how I keep them in my heart when they are miles away.
They are in my heart, but I remember when they were in my arms as I rocked with them. And after rocking them to sleep, setting them gently into their crib, and praying over them with my hand on their small head. Much has changed; prayers continue.
