PART TWO of answered prayers

In my previous post  I wrote about my little Marcus and the experience he had getting an answer to prayer. As he rushed in the door from school yesterday, in all his wild and crazed glory, I thought, "Is this the same humble kid who I wrote about on my blog?!" I always say he was born without guile, as described in the scriptures, but in the same breath I will tell you he sure knows how to make my head spin as I try to keep up with his mania.

Today I wanted to journal the second experience with regards to my son receiving an answer to prayer. This one I got to experience first hand with my oldest son, and still can't believe how much his faith outlasted mine.

Story #2 "Proof" in the E.R.

During this most recent month of my pregnancy, I was moved from "lite bed rest" to a mandatory bed rest by my doctor. As a result, I had asked a few friends to help out with my kids every now and then, just so they wouldn't suffer from the same cabin fever that I had.

 

On one particular day my sweet friend down the street was brave enough to take on all three of my crazies for a few hours. About 10 minutes in, I got a call that Mason had been hurt. He and his best buddy were playing and Mason got conked on the outer edge of his eye with a steel baseball bat. They came back home and we suited up for a trip to the E.R. My sweet friend even loaned me her car so we could go (what a mess we are) and took the other two kids back to her house.

 

Mason didn't fall apart until he saw my face and felt my arms around him. I have experienced that before. We put on a brave face until we find those that make us feel the most safe, and then we let it all out. It will be like that in Heaven, I am sure of it. (Another lesson for another day....)

 

 

 

We made it to the ER and I asked him if he thought we should pray. He agreed and we found a corner in the hospital where we could bow our heads and hold on to each other in comfort. I am a tough Mama Bear, you know. But when my kids get hurt, like really hurt,  I am a bit of a mess on the floor. Add a bed rest order to that, and I didn't feel as strong as I wanted to be in that moment. He asked me to say the prayer and in a quiet corner of newly built emergency room, a sacred and faith inspiring thing happened. I won't share the words I uttered, but I knew they weren't mine.  However, I also knew that I had the ability and power as his mother and daughter of God to use them.

 

While it may sound cliché, in that moment everything was immediately calm. In truth, as my sister recently reminded me, we "hushed our fears." Well, he did, anyway. Mommy was still a bit worried. But he was as peaceful as I'd ever seen him. While we waited in our assigned room for the doctor to come in, my sweet boy joked with me and talked with me, more than he usually does. (He's a silent one, that child of mine.) I sensed a quiet assurance in him that I had not seen in a long time. And while he remained calm, I wondered what kind of device they would use to strap him to the bed to administer the stitches. While he prefers non vocal communication, he has a set of lungs on him and a double dose of adrenaline when he's wounded, I tell you what.

 

 

 

 

The doctor came in, and Mason asked questions. (Me? stunned silence.) They chatted it up while Dr. Great Hair explained what he would be doing. In a muttered breath while Mason was distracted with the nurse, I told him they'd probably have to sedate him. The doctor disagreed. "Nah, I can tell he'll be okay. He's totally calm." I envisioned the recent trip to the dentist where Mason couldn't stop grabbing at the dentist's arm while he used his cleaning tools. Completely forgetting my prayer and request for peace and calmness in behalf of my son,  I wondered what the doctor would do when Mason did that.

 

 

 

But he didn't. The nurse didn't even have to be there. It was just him and the doctor, hanging out as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. His legs did not twitch. His arms never once left his side. He did not flinch, wince, cry, or utter a word of disapproval. When the doctor told him that the medicine in the numbing shot would hurt, he didn't say a word. He just calmly waited until the doctor was finished and asked, "Wow, was that it?"  (By this point the nurse was attending me because I had subsequently dropped my jaw on the floor.)

 

 

 

 

When the doctor finished and the nurse was doing the paperwork, he took me aside and said, "Ma'am, I told you I thought he'd be calm, but I've never seen a child be that calm while having stitches. That was pretty remarkable." All I could do was nod my head and cry, while remembering our huddled prayer in the corner of the ER. (And our family doctor said the same thing when she removed the stitches five days later.)

 

While we were driving home, I told Mason I was so proud of him and that I had never seen him so calm and still. I reiterated this over and over again and he finally said, "Well Mom, there's your proof." Taken aback, I asked, "What proof?" And in true, boldly stated Mason fashion, he said, "Proof that Heavenly Father answers prayers. No matter what." My initial mentally arrogant response was, "Uh, I don't need proof. I know He answers prayers." But I quickly remembered how lacking my faith had been during the whole ordeal, and said instead, "You're right. He really does." We talked about how important it was to remember such an experience, and how he should write it down in his scriptures to share with people, especially when he goes on his mission.

 

You can imagine my surprise when just a few days later, he stood up in fast and testimony meeting at church and bore his testimony about how Heavenly Father answers prayers. And how he even had proof of it, while waiting in the E.R.

 

Amen.