Scripture passages from Luke 18, Isaiah 28, Isaiah 42

Months ago, Heidi’s blood pressure went crazy, causing an eye bleed which gave her a blind spot in one of her eyes. It has shown mild improvement but it’s still there. What does this mean for Heidi? Besides challenges to depth perception and driving, she can’t read very well. And if she tries, she gets terrible headaches. And Heidi loves to read! For anyone who, like me, calms down every night by reading, the idea of that simple pleasure being taken away, and for so long, is horrible. Reading, for me, can be a coping strategy. A place to escape, and stop thinking about myself, and lay my worries down. And I desperately want Heidi to have this one small pleasure back.

God, I’ve been praying for Heidi’s eye to be healed for a long time. You haven’t done it yet. But I know you can. I pray that you will.

You’ve let the bad news fall on Heidi, stroke after stroke. It’s beaten her down. Her eye, in the scope of all the other huge problems, may seem like a small thing. But I pray that you’ll give it back to her, fully functional, as a gift. Clear up the blind spot. Make it go away entirely.

God, when I first had this idea of five days of public, open prayer for Heidi, immediately my mind started playing games. Maybe with more people praying we can force God’s hand. But it’s not about controlling you. Maybe we can annoy you into doing what we want. No–you’re infinitely patient and nothing like the unjust judge in the parable about the insistent widow. Maybe if I give you a stage, you’ll perform. Wow, that’s a twisted view of you. But God, hear the desperation under these mind games. I just want you to act, and my mind is trying to find a way to twist and bend and get around the fact that . . . I can’t make you do anything. There’s no strategy or manipulation or formula that I can wield to control you. You’re God.

But. You love me. You’ve given me unfettered access to your ear. You’ve said you’re my father, and that I can come to you any time, no mind games necessary. I can just ask, simply, like a child. Like my baby Isaac does, when the thought strikes him, and he pipes up in his sweet little voice, “More cake?” He doesn’t plan or strategize or threaten or butter me up. He just looks at me with his big blue eyes and says, “More cake? More cake? More cake?”

So I’m laying aside all of my weird, controlling thoughts. I come to you like Isaac comes to me, not understanding your will or your ways very well. But asking anyway, again and again.

For the Lord will rise up […] to do his deed—strange is his deed!—and to work his work—alien is his work!

I come to you, knowing that I cannot understand you–except what you reveal of yourself. And I cannot fathom your plan–except when you tenderly open my eyes to it. But more often it feels like you’re leading me blind, and that only trust can propel me to take the next step, and even that trust sometimes fails and I come to a standstill, stuck and afraid and despairing. You must lead, because this is a path I never would have chosen.

I will lead the blind
by a road they do not know,
by paths they have not known
I will guide them.
I will turn the darkness before them into light,
the rough places into level ground.
These are the things I will do,
and I will not forsake them.

I come to you with my hands lifted, empty. Empty of power, empty of control, but lifting up to you my love for my sister, which cries out constantly in my heart make her better.

Fill our empty hands with good things. Let one of those good things be Heidi’s sight. Give it back to her as a comfort, as a gift, as a sign of your care, not because we can twist your arm by organized prayer, not because you listen to the voices of many more than the voice of one, but because we have no one else to turn to. No one else who loves like you do, listens like you do, heals like you do.

So often, when I feel the burden of my powerlessness, I get mad. I cry and I swear and I rage. But this morning, I bring my powerlessness to you. You’re supposed to be strength in our weakness. You’re supposed to be the kind of God who comes into a hopeless situation where no one else could possibly save, and wins the victory. So show us that part of yourself.

I’m asking for miracles. Today, and the rest of the week. But the very grandest and most impossible-seeming thing I could ask is nothing to you. A mere thought of yours could sweep the universe into the dustbin–or bring the whole host of the dead back to life. I forget about how vast your power is sometimes. But just because it’s vast doesn’t mean it’s impersonal. It’s deeply personal. You say you know how many hairs are on our heads. You certainly know each drop of blood and each burst vessel that’s clouding Heidi’s vision.

As he approached Jericho, a blind man was sitting by the roadside begging. When he heard a crowd going by, he asked what was happening. They told him, “Jesus of Nazareth is passing by.” Then he shouted, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”

Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on Heidi.

Those who were in front sternly ordered him to be quiet; but he shouted even more loudly, “Son of David, have mercy on me!”

Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on Heidi.

Jesus stood still and ordered the man to be brought to him; and when he came near, he asked him, “What do you want me to do for you?” He said, “Lord, let me see again.” Jesus said to him, “Receive your sight; your faith has saved you.”

God, my faith may be small, but I bring it to you, knowing that far from tossing aside the tiny seeds of faith, you nurture them, and grow them into big things.

My small faith says, Jenna, you’ve prayed for Heidi’s eye a ton of times and God hasn’t done anything. Just give up already. You can’t make him do it. And I can’t make you. So what am I supposed to say? I guess that I’m just asking. And waiting for your answer, hopeful and scared and excited and fearful all at once. Take this tiny faith. Don’t crush it. Here it is.

I am the Lord, that is my name; my glory I give to no other, nor my praise to idols.

God, you could heal her eye over time. And that would be fine–even great. But I pray that instead, you’ll do it all of a sudden. So that Heidi can take this story and share it with her doctors, that they may know that something unnatural is happening. Something that defies the rules of the world–because you wrote the rules of the world, and you can bend them and break them and do whatever you want. Bring yourself glory.

Immediately he regained his sight and followed him, glorifying God; and all the people, when they saw it, praised God.

Remove all effects of Heidi’s eye bleed, Jesus. For your sake, and for hers, and for mine, so that she can have more joy, and so that we can have joy too, in praising you as witnesses of your healing power.

Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on Heidi.