When you pray for something, be prepared for .....
THE UNEXPECTED ANSWER
By Barbara Bartocci
From Nov 1984 Reader's Digest (Pages 89-91)
It was an ordinary day five years ago. I was looking at greeting cards, hunting for a birthday wish for my husband. Suddenly I laughed aloud at one card. "Sweet-heart," it read, "you're the answer to my prayers." And inside: "You're not what I prayed for exactly, but apparently you're the answer."
Only the night before, I had said in exasperation, "Honestly, Bill, you're sure not the husband I once dreamed about."
He had grinned and hugged me. "But I'll bet our marriage is better than you ever imagined."
I took the card home. While I wrapped Bill's gift, I thought about all the times when it seemed as if my prayers had gone unanswered.
As a little girl, I prayed that my father would settle our family in the small town where my grand-parents lived. He was a military officer and I loved him, but we moved so often! I yearned to put down roots.
Yet how often, as a grownup, had I said, "I'm so glad for my childhood! I learned so much, living all those places."
When my first husband died, I had three young children to raise. My hopes centered on a job as a writer in Washington, DC. But the job offer didn't come. Instead, a midwestern greeting-card company invited me to join its staff.
Not what I prayed for exactly, I thought, but if I hadn't moved here, I would never have met Bill. And what a difference he had made in my life and in the children's.
At our birthday dinner that night, Bill laughed loudly when he read his card. He, too, remembered our earlier conversation. "Not bad," he said, grinning. "This card carries some pretty profound wisdom."
Not long after that, our daughter came home from high school, looking happy but puzzled. "Remember how awful I felt when I didn't get the part in the school play?"
Of course we remembered! Bill and I had ached for her.
A smile blossomed. "Well, I've been asked to go with the debating team to the out-of-state tournament. I've wanted to do that for three years! Isn't it strange? If I'd gotten the part in the play, I couldn't go."
Bill and I looked at each other. "Not what I prayed for exactly ...," he began. "But apparently the answer!" we said together.
Later that same year, Bill's young consulting business received an unusual offer. Bill was asked to take an 18-month assignment in a small town four hours away. For a struggling new business, it seemed like the answer to a prayer - except that Bill would have to live there.
What should we do? We drove to the town, a tiny community with 4000 people. Allison would be a senior in the fall. Bravely, she said: "It's okay. I can change schools."
But my job was challenging and rewarding. Could I afford to leave? And what about the boys? Our son John was starting high school; Andy was a shy seventh-grader.
Bill and I anguished over our decision. In tears one night, I went driving and wound up in a small church: Bill needs this work, but is it worth the upheaval to move? What should we do?
When I woke up the next morning, I felt surprisingly peaceful. "I think you should take the job, Bill. But the children and I will stay here."
He looked at me carefully. "That's not what I prayed for exactly ......"
For the first time in days, I smiled. "But apparently it's the answer."
And it was the answer, although not an easy one. When the project ended six months early, we were grateful that we hadn't uprooted our family.
Over the next few years, at different times, many things each of us wanted to happen, didn't. But inside our family, the code phrase would then emerge: "It's not what I prayed for exactly ....."
Then, early last fall, Bill took a long-distance call. He turned to me, his voice holding the unnatural calm of deep fear. "Your father's been taken into surgery. There's severe heart damage."
Daddy! So ill? Oh dear God, please let him live, I prayed as Bill rushed me to the airport.
My mother said nothing when I walked into the hospital waiting room. We simply held each other silently. Sitting beside her, I prayed as I had never prayed before. Please let him live.
For three weeks, my mother and I kept our vigil. My father regained consciousness, and one special morning he squeezed my hand. But though his heart stabilized, other problems developed.
Whenever I wasn't with my father or mother, I would sit in the hospital chapel. Always, my prayer was the same: Please let Daddy live.
Get-well cards arrived from everywhere. One evening, I got a card from Bill. I tore open the envelope. It was "our" card, with this message to me added inside: "Have faith in God's answer, darling."
My mother couldn't understand why I stood in her kitchen clutching a crumpled card, alternately laughing and crying. But what Bill had helped me realize was that I'd been praying all wrong.
The next morning, I sat quietly in the hospital chapel. Dear God, I prayed, I know what I would like. But that may not be the best answer for my Daddy. You love him too. So now I release him into your hands. Not my will, but thy will be done.
In that moment, I felt as if a burden had lifted from my shoulders. Whatever God's answer, I knew it would be the right one for my father.
During the next two weeks, Daddy's condition was up one day and down the next. Then, on my mother's birthday, October 24, 1983, he died.
Bill arrived the next day with the children. "I didn't want Grand-daddy to die," sobbed Andy. "Why did he die?"
I held him close and let him cry. Through the window, I could see the mountains and crystal-blue sky. I thought of my much-loved father and the years of helpless invalidism he might have had to endure. And with Bill's hand on my shoulder, I softly replied: "Apparently, it was the answer."
