Day Three

Being obedient to God has always been important to me. But there are many times I would rather say, “No thanks. I’m good.” In fact, I often say I can tell it’s the Holy Spirit when I feel compelled to do something I don’t want to do - such as pray with the woman in the grocery aisle or send a kind note to someone who has offended me. The following story is a personal one because it involves a close family member. But it’s a great example of how powerful and effective prayer can be through obedience – even when the words come from someone whose heart is in the wrong place.

The title of this story is: “My prayer probably won’t even take!”

Throughout his lifetime, my father-in-law broke his back, accidentally cut off a finger, and even lost an eye. All separate incidents. He was like an old junkyard dog - tough as nails and nothing could knock him down. None of this, however, kept "Bink" from being a master woodworker right up until he died at the age of 90.

Clay and I were married for nearly twenty years before I really got to know his father. We saw him on birthdays and major holidays with spur of the moment visits scattered in between. He always had a dry sense of humor and made ugly, snarky remarks, which we usually found amusing. Little did we know, he was not joking.

Our lives turned upside down the minute Clay's mom collapsed in the McDonald's parking lot from a severe, debilitating stroke. Her recovery took many long, dreadful months before returning home. But she was not our biggest problem. It was her husband.

From that day on, Clay's dad became our daily problem to solve. This began as soon as we got up and continued most days until well past our bedtime. He was stubborn, uncooperative, belligerent...the list could go on and on. He had a way of stirring up trouble from a completely blank slate. In just two years, we went through thirty-four caregivers because none of them suited him, or they broke up with him first. According to Bink, they weren't pretty enough, they were bad cooks, talked too loudly, or ate too much. Some of this may have been true, but it became impossible to please him. Im-poss-i-ble.

Naturally, one might assume he had dementia, which could explain his ugly behavior. However, I observed on numerous occasions that he showed a much more charming side to select visitors (especially those from his church) and saved his worst for those of us closest to him.

I watched day in and day out as my sweet husband struggled to take care of all his father's problems. But nothing he ever did was good enough, and his efforts rarely resulted in a thank you.

After months of this madness, I built up quite a storehouse of anger and resentment. "He can control it, so why does he just get away with it?" Out of respect for Clay, I tried to control my tongue - so "turn and walk away" was the only plan I had - and I left the room a lot.

As if things weren't bad enough already, my father-in-law developed excruciating pain in his neck, which only made him crankier. He went to a specialist, no luck. He went to a pain clinic, and they basically said he had bone-on-bone from many years of abuse, and there would be no relief. So, he continued to add this to his long list of complaints, which was already endless.

We made frequent two-hour trips to see Clay's parents on the weekends and on one particular drive, as we traveled down the interstate, I began to hear God speak to me loud and clear. "I want you to pray with your father-in-law."

"Aww, man. Surely not. Please, no."

I argued the whole way there. "We don't have that kind of relationship. Besides, I'm so angry with him, my prayer probably won’t even take!"

By the time we arrived at the house, I was sweating bullets because I felt so much pressure to pray with this man - even though I absolutely did not want to.

On this visit, though, Bink was extremely upset because no one had been able to bake his wife’s cornbread recipe the way he liked it. That poor little ragged index card was worn out from all the caregivers giving it their best shot. But he was insistent that today, someone was going to finally get it right.

Clay looked at me, and I could see what was coming down the pike. "Please...?"

"You know this won't turn out well, right?" Bink had complained that everyone made the cornbread too sweet, so he wanted me to cut way back on the sugar. Knowing full well I was entering into dangerous territory, I eventually rolled up my sleeves and began looking through an unfamiliar kitchen for what I needed to make the cornbread. I used less sugar, per his request, and took a deep breath.

As soon as the cornbread cooled enough to eat, Clay proudly served his dad a warm slice with a glass of buttermilk, just the way he liked it. I had flashes of someone cautiously feeding a wild animal at the zoo. The caregiver sat on the edge of her seat and looked a little scared. We froze in place as Bink slowly dunked the cornbread into the thick buttermilk and took a big bite.

Bink immediately spat it out and yelled, "THIS ISN'T WORTH EATING! IT'S AWFUL! YUK!"

Well, that was the drop that made my bucket overflow. I grabbed my things, stormed out of the house, and waited in the car until we could leave. I screamed at the top of my lungs and pounded my fists on the dashboard. Then, for the long drive home, I spewed out all my frustration about Clay's dad through lots of tears and choice words. I was so, so done.

The next weekend, however, I found myself riding down the interstate yet again, heading right back into the danger zone. Again, I heard, "You need to pray with your father-in-law," as if nothing had happened.

"Are you kidding me? Did you not see the way he acted last week?"

This visit held less drama than the infamous cornbread incident, but I continued to fight the nagging feeling that I must pray with Clay's dad. Maybe God would forget about it.

Hours later, as we were going out the door to leave, aware that I had not done what God asked of me, I turned and looked at Bink stretched out on the sofa, clutching his neck and groaning from the pain. He looked different to me somehow, as if a veil had been lifted.

I laid my things on the floor and pulled a stool next to him. I leaned over and asked if he would mind if I prayed with him. He typically refused to wear hearing aids and could rarely hear me. But this time he heard perfectly and said, "Yes, I'd like that."

At that point, it was as if I simply became an observer because the most beautiful words began spilling out of my mouth. It was a powerful prayer about great healing for his neck, comfort as he slept, and peace for his soul.

For a brief moment, I saw him in a totally new light. I realized he was a great provider for his family, he had passed on valuable skills and strong work ethics to his child, and he had managed to raise a son who was a wonderful husband.

I was uncomfortable with the intimate moment but when I opened my eyes, I was surprised to see tears rolling down his weathered face. Bink placed his gnarled, four-fingered hand over my hand and said, "Thank you, Hun."

Several days later, I realized we had not heard any more complaining about the pain in his neck. Could it be? Honestly, it had never occurred to me that he would truly be healed of this pain, but he was. We never heard about it again.

Amazing. Even through my gritted teeth and bitter heart, God was able to perform supernatural healing for Bink’s pain. All God needed was my simple obedience, and then he did the rest.

Let's pray: Lord, please help me to see others through your eyes. Forgive me for the times my heart is hardened and my will is resistant. Amen

Personal challenges and reflection:

• Is there a time when you felt God was asking you to pray for someone and you were obedient? Is there a time when you weren’t?
• How would you describe the nudge from the Holy Spirit? Is there a way you know it’s from him and not just your own thoughts?
• How can you challenge yourself to pray for individuals who have hurt or mistreated you? Is there anyone who immediately comes to mind?