Muted Prayers

The first time I remember Mom praying was when I was maybe 7 or 8 years old. I recall walking into Mom’s room as she knelt beside her bed. “Mommy!” I enthusiastically started. “Kiya,” she said in a calm tone with her eyes still closed, “Mommy is praying.” In the morning, at night and any time we were about to leave the house, Mommy would be on her knees praying. Sometimes I would innocently think she was sleeping as she would stay down there so long.
 
The last time I saw Mom on her knees praying was the Tuesday she had me take her to the hospital for what would be her final stay. I remember walking into her bedroom where she was knelt on the ground with her clasped hands propped up on the side of the bed. Later, when she exited her bedroom, my dad, brother and I met her in the living room as we joined hands in prayer.
 
The day she passed, Wednesday, I recall walking to her bedside (she was still responsive at this point) and saying, “Mommy, we haven’t prayed together today, do you want to pray?” As we reached for each other’s hands. I prayed first and Mom’s prayer followed. I had no idea that she would die hours later; I had no idea that would be the last time I’d hear my Mommy pray.
 
After Mom died, I remember “forgetting” how to pray for myself. I still spoke to God daily, finding something to thank Him for and filling any prayer requests that came my way, but as for praying for myself, it didn’t happen. You see, I’d prayed for God to heal my Mommy, but she still died. How do you form prayers to God when your reality reflects a situation in which you don't feel your prayers are being answered? How do you pray for joy from the One you naively think is responsible for taking your joy away? How exactly do you pray? What exactly was I supposed to pray for? I knew God and loved Him, but I didn’t feel too high on His priority list.
 
These debilitating thoughts and painful talks with God treaded my lips until a warm morning in November when Dad was given a fatal diagnosis at UNC Hospital. As the words rolled off the doctor’s lips, warm tears rolled down my face.  “I am so sorry, Ms. Ward” the doctor started, “I know you’ve been through a lot here lately”
 
Much of that day is a blur, but I vividly recall calling out the name of “Jesus.” No matter how deep my sorrow, one thing I knew for sure was that there was power in the name of Jesus and that I was still covered by His blood; I knew if I could just call on His name, it would suffice until I could articulate a prayer; until I could find the strength and the words to give meaning to the way that I felt.
 
Looking back, I can say that calling on the name of “Jesus” was enough. In the weeks that followed Dad’s diagnosis, God taught me how to pray again. No, they weren’t the formal, fancy prayers, but they were the prayers of my heart; I learned that every conversation I’d had with God since Mom died, counted; That whether I was calling on the name “Jesus” or simply sitting in His presence, it counted. I started praying the Psalms (the lament and imprecatory Psalms were my favorite); I purchased the Sarah Young devotional and read it daily; I started listening to online sermons each  morning; I chose a book of the Bible to study daily (the book of James) and refused to let the text go, until it meant something to me.

During this time, God gave language to my muted prayers and reconciled my grief and lack of understanding regarding Mom’s passing. God showed me that Mom’s deliverance (my prayer) had come (been answered), it just wasn’t in the way I expected; for death is the fulfillment of a promise from God. Perhaps it was in Mom’s death that I forgot how to pray, but it was in Dad’s sickness (leading up to his death) that I received the  ultimate reminder.
 
I thank God for each of you who prayed (and continue to pray) for my family and me during our time of loss. Perhaps your prayer went to God on one of those days when I couldn't pray for myself <3.