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The Prayer That Must Win

Standing in Love

On a good day, parenting is sweet beyond describing, and on a routine day, the happy motivation to be persistent and faithful. But in turbulent seasons, parenting is the most stretching and grueling of charges. It was a season like the latter when the Lord revealed His empathy with my parenting pain and brought healing with His truth. 

It was mid-January 2008. I woke from an uneasy sleep about 4:30 a.m. My first conscious thought was that my last conscious thought had been wrenching. Then I remembered yesterday’s disclosure: two Ekhoff children had been involved in reprehensible behavior while on my watch. (I will not share the offense, as this testimony is more about God’s good word to me than this particular naughtiness.) Sorrow for their sin, shadowed by shame over my slack parenting, billowed in again and threatened to suffocate me. 

Sleep dispelled, I slipped to the family room, my place for early morning counsels with the Lord. Pulling a chair close to the gas fireplace flames, tucking in my feet for warmth, and opening my Bible on the ample arm of the chair, I began an earnest search for the Lord—His voice, His comfort, His counsel. 

I knew that somewhere in the margins of my Bible I had written little notes beside verses that the Lord had indicated were for my children, promises I’d made to Him, and promises He’d made to me. This morning I was yearning for these in particular. As I tearfully read and clutched these scriptures to my heart, a prayer began to form—not a tender, humble prayer—a hot, accusing prayer: “You promised! You promised! YOU PROMISED!” Between spitting accusations at God and begging for forgiveness, I sobbed. For two hours, I raged and repented until the inner storm quelled. As there was nothing more to say, I sat quietly and waited for the voice of the Lord. But though I anticipated in faith, there was no word from Him. In the ensuing silence, I felt betrayed. 

You must be wondering at my shallowness. Why didn’t I heed the promises I’d just read? Where was my faith? But remember, our conversation with our Father is relational. I wanted more than verses; I wanted to be immersed in His comfort. I wanted His assurance that all was forgiven. I needed specific instruction for the present crisis. He is able and willing to be Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Prince of Peace.

By 7:30 a.m., I began to hear footfalls and voices above me. The children would soon tumble down for breakfast and the start of our school day. Taking a deep breath, I resolved to pull myself together. I replaced the chair, put my Bible away, switched off the light, and headed to the kitchen, where I busied about with breakfast preparations. Still needing to dress for the day, I started back through the family room—but came to a full stop mid-step. 

Now on the opposite family room wall, I had arranged a decorative collage above the sofa. The bottom row consisted of three shadow boxes side-by-side filled with snapshots of my children. Above these was a 6 x 40-inch wooden plaque. On this I had hand-lettered a verse in pine green paint: “Behold, children are an heritage from the Lord” (Ps. 127:3, my own combination of the AMP and KJV). Above the plaque were two small woodcarvings, and atop these a little wreath.

I had grown past noticing anything on this wall unless the pictures were askew, but this morning, I stared unblinkingly across the semi-dark room. Here’s why: The plaque and verse were highlighted in white light. Not precisely framed—but trust me—framed more than enough to make a holy impression. 

As I stood transfixed and confused, my first thought was to question if it was really light, then to marvel at how the light accented only the plaque and its message as if designed to do so. The old adage, “Read the writing on the wall,” came to mind. Then I seriously considered the possibility of something supernatural. Could it be that God had literally highlighted this particular message in answer to my agonized prayer? 

I flew across the room and stepped up onto the sofa for a closer look. Extending my hand high above my head and turning round and round, I searched for an explainable light source. As it turned out, the rising sun was just breaking over the roofs of our neighbors’ homes to the east and streaming through the transom window above our front door. The shape of the transom happened to be similar to the shape of the plaque. 

Then my mind went a-whirling: Such a God! Such a comforting passage for my present situation! Such a gracious, timely answer to my angry prayer! After a few moments of wonder and praise, I headed down the hall to my bedroom. As I did, like Mary, I treasured up all these things and pondered them in my heart (Luke 2:19). I think our Father enjoys surprises that undo us.

Why did the Lord go to so much trouble? I believe it was partly for me and partly for you. A fight is on for those we love, and He wants you and me to know that our children and all those who are dear to us are very precious to Him. That means my lit plaque is your lit plaque. The highlighted verse is both yours and mine as He knew I would share this with you.

The prayer that must win is not a tidy process. The Lord provides comfort and strengthens us with His power. He gives us His strategy. But we still have to stand, fight, and endure our battles for those we love. Sometimes we will be shell-shocked. We will still cry when we are hurt and afraid. We may be clumsy with our spiritual weapons: the authority and power of Jesus’ name and blood, love, faith, worship and thanksgiving, holding to truth, unity, rest, humility, forgiveness, goodness, even weakness (and so many more). We will sometimes miss God’s cues and have to take hairpin turns to circle back. And no, not every situation ends happily ever after. But each of us can have intimacy with God in the midst. This is our ultimate victory—us in Him and He in us.

The prayer that must win is both terrible and beautiful. It is terrible because persevering through sin and pain for the sake of those we love is based in sacrifice. But it is also intrinsically beautiful, for as we battle for love’s sake, we are never alone. We take our stand in Love, and Love is a Person.