Tag Archives: cancer

Pray for Heidi Day #2: Confirmation of healing

Scripture passages from Judges 6, Judges 7, Isaiah 42, John 14, Isaiah 45

God, you’ve given so many of us signs you’re going to heal Heidi. And yet, instead of getting better, things have gotten worse … and worse. Complication after complication have knocked her down. Nothing has gone smoothly. Medications that were supposed to help her have failed. At first, God, I felt pretty certain I’d heard right–that you were going to heal her. But now, months have gone by. And I’m no longer as sure. Did you speak? Did we make it up? Why are you letting this drag on?

I long for you to speak to Heidi directly about it, especially now, as she’s just been readmitted to the hospital. What is your plan? Is it to heal her like we thought you said? Then tell Heidi.

She longs to hear from you on this, too. Remember when she was mad at you, and was like, “God, how come you’re giving signs to everyone else and not to me?” Remember how she grabbed her Bible and opened it randomly, right to her cornerstone passage of Isaiah 54?

That’s what I want for Heidi. More confirmations, like rain on thirsty ground.

I’m asking not for one, or two, but as many as it takes for Heidi’s heart to be strengthened and assured. Let them be clear signs that you are going to heal her, if we’ve heard right and that really is your plan. God, we’re fallible. We deceive ourselves. That’s my biggest fear–that we’ve played mind games with ourselves–that you haven’t spoken after all–that Heidi will die and all these so-called signs were just foolishness. Confirm your word to Heidi.

I feel nervous typing this. I can hear an argumentative voice saying, Aren’t you being awfully bold, Jenna? Enough is enough. You’ve gotten your signs? How dare you pray for more?

But I reject that voice. Do we ever tell a child, “How dare you ask your dad that?” No. Maybe their request is silly. Or wrong. Misguided, or selfish. But it is never a question of how dare you ask. God, you tell me to come bringing my needs. This feels like a need.

Then Gideon said to God, “In order to see whether you will deliver Israel by my hand, as you have said, I am going to lay a fleece of wool on the threshing floor; if there is dew on the fleece alone, and it is dry on all the ground, then I shall know that you will deliver Israel by my hand, as you have said.” And it was so.

Can you blame us, God, for craving this from you? Is it that shocking that we’re desperate to hear from you again and again? We’re weak and forgetful. The impact of things fades so quickly. The signs that at the time seemed marvelous now seem like they happened a lifetime ago.

Make them fresh in our hearts again. And speak new things.

And now I have told you this before it occurs, so that when it does occur, you may believe.

Tell us. Tell us again, clearly, tell us afresh.

I am the Lord, and there is no other.
I did not speak in secret,
in a land of darkness;
I did not say to the offspring of Jacob,
“Seek me in chaos.”
I the Lord speak the truth,
I declare what is right.

I don’t want to be whiny and needy and weak. But . . . I am needy. I have zero power, and zero control–but I have a Father with all the power and all the control. Don’t be mad at me for coming to you like this.

Then Gideon said to God, “Do not let your anger burn against me, let me speak one more time; let me, please, make trial with the fleece just once more; let it be dry only on the fleece, and on all the ground let there be dew.” And God did so that night.

You gave Gideon two clear signs. But even after that, when it came time for the battle, he was scared–and you knew it. So you gave him yet another sign–one that he didn’t even have to ask for. You knew his heart; you knew what he needed; you gave it.

That same night the Lord said to him, “Get up, attack the camp; for I have given it into your hand.  But if you fear to attack, go down to the camp with your servant Purah; and you shall hear what they say, and afterward your hands shall be strengthened to attack the camp.”

See our fear, like Gideon’s? That the battle you promised to give us in victory might end up being a loss after all? Give us assurance. Give Heidi assurance. And while you’re at it, give it to Mike, and to my parents, and to his parents. Do I sound greedy? But I’m greedy for you, God–and for you to show up and make yourself heard to Heidi, and to anyone who hasn’t heard from you on this yet.

You alone know how to speak to each one of us. You alone know what it takes to make your voice heard to each one of us, through the noise of life and the doubts in our heads and the busyness that stops up our ears. So whatever way that is for Heidi, break through and let her hear you. Speak to her directly. Tell her about your plan–your specific plan for this cancer that’s devouring her body.

See, the former things have come to pass, and new things I now declare;
before they spring forth, I tell you of them.

Tell us before it happens, so that we can glorify you even more.

God, Heidi looks at her kids and mourns. She’s facing a future where they may not grow up with a mom. She can’t look at her kids without this terrible sorrow washing over her. Are you going to heal her? Is she going to be able to raise her own kids, like her heart desires so intensely? Speak to her.

Don’t be silent. I know at times you are. I know you can use time of silence to grow our faith. But please, break the silence. Speak. Let Heidi hear you. Let her know she is precious to you, and let her in on the plan.

Pray for Heidi Day #1: Vision

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.