I have a mental image still, after all these years, of my Grandma Sarah. She would sit in her gold rocking chair, the octagon table (which was really a stereo in disguise) to her left, and a magazine rack to her right. There were always crossword puzzle books, the church magazine, and her Bible close by...and M&Ms in the cabinet. We could talk about anything, and when I finally accepted Christ as my Savior, the subject of prayer and time alone with God was a frequent topic of conversation. Grandma was a prayer warrior.
I remember talking to her about the day I was born. It won't surprise those who know me that my entrance into this world was not uneventful. I came unexpectedly and dramatically and, I am told, rather blue. Oxygen deprivation due to details that most readers wouldn't want to know about. It was a scary time (as for me, I don't remember a thing, so it isn't all that traumatizing). For my parents and grandparents, however, there was great concern.
The doctors were unsure at the time whether I had suffered neurological damage; I was over eight pounds and in an incubator (Mom says I looked quite out of place; one foot propped up on the glass...). Grandma tells me that the night I was born, she and grandpa were awake all night praying...for me.
I don't know how my life would have been different had they not been on their knees that cold night in December. Nor do I know why God honored their prayers. I am grateful just the same.
All my life there have been prayer warriors petitioning in my behalf. Grandma Sarah prayed for me daily...she told me so. When she died she took those prayers to heaven with her. Perhaps she intercedes now.
But the question arises when I think of her...and the many other prayer warriors I have known: Who will take her place? Where are the prayer warriors of our generation?
Perhaps tomorrow I can find the answer...but for tonight...sleep sweet!
I remember talking to her about the day I was born. It won't surprise those who know me that my entrance into this world was not uneventful. I came unexpectedly and dramatically and, I am told, rather blue. Oxygen deprivation due to details that most readers wouldn't want to know about. It was a scary time (as for me, I don't remember a thing, so it isn't all that traumatizing). For my parents and grandparents, however, there was great concern.
The doctors were unsure at the time whether I had suffered neurological damage; I was over eight pounds and in an incubator (Mom says I looked quite out of place; one foot propped up on the glass...). Grandma tells me that the night I was born, she and grandpa were awake all night praying...for me.
I don't know how my life would have been different had they not been on their knees that cold night in December. Nor do I know why God honored their prayers. I am grateful just the same.
All my life there have been prayer warriors petitioning in my behalf. Grandma Sarah prayed for me daily...she told me so. When she died she took those prayers to heaven with her. Perhaps she intercedes now.
But the question arises when I think of her...and the many other prayer warriors I have known: Who will take her place? Where are the prayer warriors of our generation?
Perhaps tomorrow I can find the answer...but for tonight...sleep sweet!
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