Yesterday, our church congregation had some time for members to share faith-building experiences, as we do on the first Sunday each month. I had been pondering for a few months what I wanted to share, so I approached the microphone when the time seemed right.
I bravely stood and just shared in a genuine way how
exactly a year ago, the third type of chemo had failed for my son. The doctors had recommended trying the last one on the list. During that time, I prayed aloud every day on my way to school. I prayed desperate, pleading prayers. I prayed for the faith to make good things happen and to see the good things that did happen. I prayed for the chemo to work, but I prayed that if it didn’t I would somehow make it through. I knew these prayers were desperate when I started for asking for things I didn’t even know enough to ask for. I asked for angels, I asked for my son’s pain relief, I asked for more time.
But I also said thank you. Every morning I found several things to be grateful for: people who helped us, the peace I had received, and other people’s prayers. Honestly, I think it was the gratitude that helped me most.
Today, Q is still in a tight spot, but doctors have found a chemo that works. When I look back on the last year, I realize my prayers have been answered in big ways, but it feels like they were answered a little at a time in my heart.