The first time that I remember praying as an adult was when my dad was going into brain surgery at Barrow Neurological Institute in Phoenix, AZ. The doctors were without confidence about the surgery, and we were told that they had no idea what would happen once they opened him up. They had never seen anything like the aneurysm that was on the back of my dad’s brain. They had to call the head of the institute home early from vacation to perform the surgery, but even the doctor that we were told people referred to as “god” by many, wasn’t confident that my dad would make it through the surgery.
I had never seen my dad so terrified as he was in the room before the surgery. He didn’t know if he was coming through this, and he was shaking and completely somber. He thought it was over.
Ironically, that thought never crossed my mind. I knew he would be fine, but that was a bit worrisome to see him so terrified. He asked my sisters and I to pray for him, and we did just that. I remember sitting on the floor at the end of a long drab hallway praying. I don’t know what I said, and I never thought it would be what actually saved my dad’s life that day, but almost twenty years later, I know it was.
After the surgery, the head of the institute, aka “god” came walking down the hallway to talk to my sisters and I. As he was walking towards us he seemed baffled and was in a state of awe over what had just happened in the operating room.
We eagerly asked if he was okay, and Dr Robert Spetzler shook his head and said, “yeah…yeah…he is going to be okay.” As he said it, he seemed really shocked.
I never got to ask the doctor what happened in the room that day, but now that I know God, I don’t need to question anyone, because I know it was our prayers that were answered.
I never even thanked God after that, because it never occurred to me that God was the One that saved him that day.
Thank you Father for your compassion and faithfulness to answer prayers!