Prayer. Maybe The First In A Series.

I have a lot lot more to say about prayer right now, but time is scarce and my mind not so good so I'll just tell you about one woman.

A woman came into the ICU Friday night. She had a big crowd with her and they seemed to only be waiting for surgery but as night came and the surgery crowd thinned out, they moved a sofa bed into the waiting room and it became clear they were in, like many of us, for the duration (except with furniture).

She never really assimilated with the rest of us. When anyone would speak to her, she'd declare loud and long that she was here for a miracle! That there was no way that God could take her son because she'd lived a good life!! She claimed that her family was in talks with the Oprah show to showcase their miracle!!

Saturday in the middle of the night, I was walking back from a visit with my dad. I saw her in the hall and looked her in the eye with a smile. She returned the smile. "I have someone I want you to meet."

You know where this is going, don't you? How do I get around this? If I refuse to meet her son on the grounds of respecting their privacy, then I seem rude. But going to see someone else's child in ICU?

I went. It was one of those split second decisions and who knows if it was right, but there I was. I washed up, went in, and stood silently beside the bed while she told me his story. He's a man my age with the stunted growth of someone with lifelong kidney issues. He barely made a dent inn his bed and had recently suffered a battle with cardiac arrest. After the story, I thanked her for sharing the story of her strong son, patted her arm, and left uncomfortably.

She didn't get her miracle. Or maybe she did. Her son passed away last night and it's been quiet in the waiting room. I wonder if somehow that woman's prayers for a miracle could somehow be translated into grace and peace for this family.

And I hope they are.