Wings and a Prayer

Prayer flunked." That's what they would like you to believe. It was an old newspaper article I had saved and tucked away to be found later: "Prayers offered by strangers had no effect on the recovery of people who were undergoing heart surgery", it proclaimed. According to another study, "A cardiologist monitored 1,800 patients at six hospitals who had coronary bypass surgery". One group received no prayers, while the other group received prayers, but only half were informed, and the other half didn't know if they'd receive them or not. 

Three congregations began praying, and the doctors analyzed the results a month later. The outcome? There was no difference in recovery for those who were prayed for by strangers and those who weren't. Additionally, patients who knew they were being prayed for experienced more medical complications than those who didn't believe they'd receive prayers. Each person assigned to pray was given the patient's first name and last initial, like Melissa B., but what if there are 68,700 Melissa B's in the world? How does the prayer find its target? What if the people praying threw in a prayer after all for all the people no one was praying for? Wouldn't you do that? I would. Sort of skews the results, though. And why the anxiety for those who were told they were being prayed for? Do those results mean we shouldn't tell people we're praying for them, as it will worry them? 

It did me. Sixteen years ago, a mass was discovered during my mammogram. The doctor, after the exam, told me it was likely a cyst and not to worry. I didn't, until as I left, the girl who had scheduled my additional imaging and follow-up said, "I'll pray for you." Yikes - then it hit me - that it could be cancer. I cried all the way back home, looking at my long red hair in the rearview mirror and picturing myself trying to go on a date while bald from chemo. Yet, as I readied myself for bed that night, my daily conversation with God was a great comfort. I was tempted to pray for the big cancer eraser, for a big dose of "Dr. Scholl's Tumor Be Gone". But prayer is not asking, it is a longing of the soul. It is a daily admission of one's weakness. I don't say a whole lot when I pray, but I know He hears, for isn't it better to have a heart without words, than words without a heart?

 So, this lapsed and humble Christian simply asked for "Thy will be done" and drifted off into an untroubled sleep as acceptance warmed me like a blanket. It turned out to be benign.

Hindsight is 20/20. I look back at many things that have happened to me, love, loss, illness, times of searing pain that have honed me into the person I am. The past is just a river. Some days it's a slow stream, almost without current, until a storm, a dark cloud, triggers the flow, and it spreads, drowning the parched ground of our memories and subsiding again, leaving us richer and stronger.

I know there will still be days when I wake up with an ache in my heart, yet another loss of something I had hoped for, disappointment tugging on my spirit. Yet there's a hope in me, a wonderment just to be alive. If some higher power could have kept me from feeling life's pain, would I have asked for it? Of course. Yet I would not be who I am without my experiences.

 Because of them, I am strong, fearless, funny, and hopefully, more compassionate. I am a better person for my trials. Think of someone you once wanted to marry and didn't, and you have to agree that sometimes God's best gift is not a yes... but a no, not now. I was only 19 and abandoned by my boyfriend when I first believed I was pregnant. Scared and angry as I first prayed "oh please don't let me be", I had not known with certainty that life itself lay embedded in each shiny moment. I had not known the mystery of how miracles changed amino acids into cells or of spontaneous healing - forgiveness where once there was anger and hate. I have sung a hundred old hymns and loved the music, but had not dared hope that in my own flesh I would see the divine. I was, I am, we are all destined to die—but just as surely to participate in our role in creation.

And she was born. I had prayed that it would not happen. Now someone new and beautiful lay sleeping, dreaming new dreams all her own. I really didn't know how lacking in hope I had been until then. And the event that I had prayed would not take place became my greatest accomplishment, and her small being, my biggest act of courage. So I'd have to say - they ARE all answered, we just don't always get the answer we want. You can't measure prayer in terms of getting exactly what you want, as someone once said, "God is not some sort of cosmic bellboy."

Which brings me back to the study in the newspaper. The researchers gave God a deadline. That's a bit arrogant, don't you think? The study measured the patients after 30 days. Maybe God was addressing more urgent needs: children with AIDS in Africa, the brave men and women who are our nation's military, the shattered and homeless, and those struggling with addiction. Who are we to say what timetable He should be on? So if you pray for a "successful surgery with no complications" - how do you know, in 30 days, whether the results will sustain the person, or only hasten their death six months from now." 

Think of it - every year on multiple days, thousands of people pray for the Cubs to win. When they don't, does that mean that prayer doesn't work? Or that heaven forbid, God is a White Sox fan? You can't measure the work of the Holy Spirit with a scientific study, any more than you can measure it by a baseball score. So, for myself, anyway, I plan to continue talking with God as my life ebbs and flows along its tumultuous path. - Brigid