More Conversations With Godনমুনা

An Introduction

“Prayers that must” is my personal way of expressing conversations with God that are urgent—those times when we simply must pray. We must hear from the Lord, receive from Him, be immersed in Him. Ultimately the goal of these prayers is to know God more. Each day of this plan is a personal testimony showcasing a specific channel of prayer. 

Note: The days of this plan have more content than my other plans to date as I am sharing a new testimony each day. To fully understand the precious truths the Lord reveals, I felt I must provide the broader details of the experiences. I hope you will enjoy these adventures in prayer.

The Prayer That Must Know

Walking in Love

The need to know God’s will and how to obey Him often comes into our conversations with our Father—I call this impasse the prayer that must know. We don’t know, but we understand that He knows all things and can reveal His thoughts to us through His Word and by His Spirit.

When our son Samuel was five months old, he became critically ill—literally overnight. During the preceding morning, all his symptoms were of the typical upper respiratory viral type. I assumed he had a bad cold and would be fine. He was baby number five in our family. Hadn’t I been equal to every infant illness to date? 

For the rest of the day and into the night, I rocked him almost continually. If I placed him in his bassinette for even a moment, he began a hoarse, pitiful cry, and I scooped him back up again. In the wee hours as his breathing became more labored and his temperature soared, I became increasingly alarmed. The moment came when I knew my baby was dying. Waking Richard and making quick arrangements for our four sleeping children, we rushed to the nearest hospital and through the sliding emergency room doors.

By this time Samuel was desperately struggling for air, and I was hysterical. A competent nurse took him from me, and I was ushered to a secluded corner to compose myself. I feigned sanity, and ten minutes later was allowed to take Samuel into my arms again as he was examined. His oxygen level was at eighty percent caused by double pneumonia and Respiratory Syncytial Virus (RSV), a virus that can be deadly, especially for infants. Within a few hours Samuel had been admitted to the hospital.

Hospital day one and two crept by. Samuel was well cared for but not bouncing back as I had hoped. On the afternoon of day three, I glanced at Samuel’s sweet face in the hospital crib to see his eyes fixed and desperate, then watched helplessly as his face turned blue amidst blaring monitors. Our new roommate, the young mother of the newborn baby girl in the next crib, stepped around the amassing hospital staff, slipped her arm around my waist and whispered, “Do you want me to pray?” I couldn’t form a word, much less a prayer, so I nodded assent. (Thank goodness for intercessors. The answers to their prayers sustain us.) 

All eyes were on Samuel.  The circle round the crib willed Him to breathe. In the weighty pause I heard the Lord instruct, “Turn up the oxygen.” The injunction was so strong I said aloud, “Should we turn up the oxygen?” One nurse shook her head, “No, wait.” Another long pause—I had just determined to dive over her and do it myself when another staff member reached over Samuel’s head and cranked the oxygen output lever. Immediately Samuel drew a breath. After a lifetime of minutes, the second crisis was past.

On the fifth day, armed with a new nebulizer—I hoped I could assemble, and CPR instruction—I hoped I could remember, we were discharged. Samuel was by no means well. He still had double pneumonia and needed constant care. We placed his portable crib near our bed and propped the mattress at a thirty-degree angle. Breathing treatments were administered every four hours along with prescription medication, but I could see no marked improvement in the days that followed. The nights were the worst for me. Emotionally and physically exhausted as I was, I could hardly close my eyes. In his fragile state, I was afraid Samuel would die while I was asleep. When he had stopped breathing in the hospital, there had been monitors to alert the nursing staff. I was terrified the same scenario would play out in my dark bedroom and no one would respond. 

It was during these difficult weeks that I received a call from my friend Martha. She offered to host a game night at her house for our children, care for Samuel, and send Richard and me away with a picnic dinner. I was thankful for her kindness but also apprehensive about leaving Samuel. Richard encouraged me to accept the gift, and I finally agreed. 

After depositing the children and collecting the dinner basket, Richard and I opened the feast on the lawn of a near-by park. It was gourmet in every way with appetizers, homemade soup in a thermos, and chocolate-dipped strawberries. Despite the beautiful setting and food, I felt that if I relaxed, my body would crack. I had reached emotional bankruptcy, which is the perfect place for the voice of God to enter. 

As we returned the remains of the meal to the basket, I suddenly remembered something—something very, very valuable. How could I have forgotten that Jesus had all knowledge and He would certainly speak to me if I asked? In my spirit I turned to face the Lord, knowing from experience that what He revealed would impart the courage to go on. (Note: No doubt it was this “coming away” from my situation—even for two hours that the Lord used to break my debilitating fear so I could ask Him to speak to me. This short snatch of rest opened my heart to His voice. Thank you, Martha.) 

I love waiting in hope for the Lord. In the next days I waited in relieved anticipation knowing He would speak. A few mornings later, just as I was waking, Holy Spirit whispered these words, “light, momentary trouble.” Reaching for my Bible, I found the passage that included those words. “Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all” (2 Cor. 4:16–17). I understood (even though this was not exactly the central theme of this passage) that what Samuel and I were facing now would seem light and momentary in retrospect, and that Samuel was being “renewed inwardly day by day.” This season would surely pass, and Samuel would live. It’s something I knew. It was a promise I received by faith.

Samuel is now in his twenties. Looking back, I can see the eternal glory. It far outweighs the pain of those months. Part of that glory is the joy of sharing this testimony with you now.

Sometimes we just don’t know how to proceed. In these cases, we need the mind of Christ. He knows. And as sons and daughters, we’ve been given the honor and right to pray that we may also know. But when the Lord speaks, we receive more than the answer to a question and the peace to proceed. The finale of the prayer that must know is simply and profoundly this: We come to know God more. He Himself is the dear culmination of every search, the treasure in the field, the pearl of great price. To know and enjoy Him in increasing measure is to have every blessing. We walk in the light of Love, and Love is a Person.