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  • Writer's pictureLaura Kae

Answered Prayer

My very first piece of prose. I never had to write any papers in high school, so this is my first piece of writing more than a few paragraphs long. It is my first writing assignment from college – an autobiographical story. It was written a year and a half before I heard the gospel message and placed my faith in Jesus, so it feels really vulnerable to share this. This is a glimpse of my faith before I knew Jesus saves and there was a way for me to have a relationship with God, be a part of His story and go to heaven.

“Laura, look up there. See the flock of birds.”

My brother, mom, and I are standing on our driveway. My mom has light brown hair and blue eyes. She is thin and of medium height. I am a very little girl, and my brother Marion is three years older. The trees are budding, and the grass is turning green. The sunshine is warm on our skin, and the air smells of freshly turned earth and sprouting plants.

“What birds? I can’t see them, Mom. Where are they?” I ask.

“Right up there, Laura,” Mom says and points to the low-flying flock of geese.

“I can’t see them.”

“You should, Laura, they’re right there,” my mom and brother reiterate.

As we walk away, I wonder, “Why can they see the birds? Why can’t I? What makes the birds visible to them and not to me?”

It is a few months later. We are at a school sale, and I have just been playing with my friends. Now I want to find Mom. A pleasant bustle prevails. The people are talking and laughing. Women are working by the craft tables and in the kitchen. Children dart in and out among the tables, playing tag or some other childish game.

“Where is Mom?” I wonder, “What did she wear today? There is a lady over there that looks like her. Maybe it’s her.”

Slowly I walk toward her. When I come within a few feet, I stop and study her closely. “Is it her?” I ask myself. She says something, and I realize that it is not.

“Where is Mom?” Panic fills me. “What if I never find her? Maybe she is on the other side of the building.” As I walk, I scrutinize everyone. Over there is someone who looks like her. I move close and begin to study her.

“What do you want, Laura?”

Relief fills me. I have found her. She is still there, and she still cares. I ask her a few questions for an excuse to stay. Then I go find my friends. “Where will she be the next time I need her?” I wonder.

We are in church. All is quiet. The sermon is being delivered, and everyone is listening. “Mom, I have to go to the bathroom,” I whisper urgently.

“Do you know where it is, Laura?”

“Yes.”

“You may go by yourself then.”

“Mom, won’t you come with me?”

“You’ll be okay, Laura. No one is going to hurt you.” Reluctantly, I leave the bench. I look at all the people. Who are they anyway? What if they hurt me? As I hurry down the aisle, I hope that they don’t notice me. If I go fast enough, maybe they won’t steal me. When I get back to the bench, I breathe easier. I made it. Those strangers didn’t hurt me. Then I cuddle to Mom and tuck my hand in hers. It is years before I realize that all these people are my family and friends.

It is night. Everyone is sleeping except for me. I am kneeling beside my bed. “Lord,” I plead, “Give me good eyes. You performed miracles in the Bible. When I wake up in the morning, let me be able to see.”

When I finally crawl into bed that night I think, “Maybe He will hear this time.” With a heart full of hope I fall asleep. However, when I awake in the morning, I am disappointed. “Why doesn’t He hear me?” I wonder. “He performed miracles in the Bible, so why not now on me?”

It is a couple of years later. I am nine years old. I lie on a hospital bed. The room feels strange to me. Everything is white and smells so clean. Dad and Mom are sitting in chairs nearby. We talk as we wait for the nurse. Finally she comes and puts drops in my left eye. She comes back several times, and I have to say goodbye to Mom and Dad. Now she is ready to wheel me away to a different room. There I have a different nurse. His name is Duane. He looks thin and has dark hair. He senses that I am scared and begins to talk to me. He tells me that after my surgery I will baby sit his kids for him. I trust him as he puts the IV into me. Now he says that I will go to sleep. Then they move me again. It is odd to lie in a moving bed. This place is so new to me. Everything smells of antiseptic. We enter the operating room. The doctors and nurses all have green masks on. I wonder which one I met earlier at the eye clinic.

“See the blinking red light? Look at it and count to ten,” a nurse says.

I try, but before I reach ten I fall fast asleep.

It is eight weeks later. I am in a small room at the eye clinic. In the center is a small table with a hand towel and a mirror. Along one wall is a counter. Above the counter small shelves line the wall. On the shelves are all kinds of contact products. Mom and a nurse are with me. I am struggling to put contacts in. I need contacts to compensate because now my eyes don’t work together.

“A little farther up,” the nurse coaches. I try, but the contact falls to the towel again.

“Here, I’ll put it in for you. Then you’ll know how it feels,” suggests the nurse.

Wow! What a bright new world! I can read the brand on the solution bottles from the table. Everything looks so precise. It isn’t blurry anymore.

“Now you must take them out and put them in by yourself before you leave,” the nurse explains. It is over an hour later before we leave. I have my contacts in, and I feel special. Everything looks so new.

I think, “I can see so well now. Why does the doctor say that when I get older, I won’t be able to drive?”

Four years have passed. I mumble something in my sleep and try to sit up. A hand pushes me back down. “Stay there. It’s okay,” a voice says.

No, I must get up and do my chores. I try again. Again I am pushed down. “Stay down,” the voice says gently.

My face feels funny. I feel it with my hand. There is a big patch over my right eye. I open my other eye and look around. I am in a hospital room again. It is the recovery room. A nurse stands beside me.

“Awake already?” she says cheerfully and begins to prepare me to go back to my room.

I am tired, so tired. When I arrive in my room my parents are there. The room is small because I had same-day surgery. There is a big brown recliner instead of a hospital bed. It is comfortable, so comfortable: and I am sooo tired. Soon I fall back to sleep.

It is six weeks later. I am in a room in the eye clinic. Today I am being fitted with new glasses. Optical devices surround me. I am sitting in the chair looking across the room at the eye chart. The doctor adjusts the big set of glasses, and I look through them. The letters on the board get smaller and smaller. I am still reading them. We have made it to the 20-20 line! I read that, too!

“I just can’t believe it,” the doctor shakes his head, “I never thought vision could improve this much. It really is a miracle.”

I look around with wonder. Wow! Trees have leaves! The leaves all move separately. Gravel isn’t just brown. It comes in little pieces! It doesn’t take long until I have a headache from all the brightness and excitement. However, I can’t shut my eyes now. The world is too awesome.

It is night. I am kneeling beside my bed. Thankfulness fills my heart. God never answered me immediately, but He answered well. I thank Him for it. Contentedly, I crawl into bed and fall fast asleep.

It is five years later, and I am standing in the same place as I was years ago when my mom and brother were pointing out that low-flying flock of geese. However, now it is summer, not spring. It is hot. The grass is turning brown from drought. The leaves on the cornstalks are curling. The crop won’t be excellent this year; but as I look around, I remember that moment so many years ago. I raise my eyes heavenward and see a bird flying solitarily to his nest. Tears of gratefulness fill my eyes. If…if God had not blessed my eye surgeries, I would be stone blind now. I thank Him from the bottom of my heart and ask Him to help me remember that He is the Answerer of prayer.

“Laura, suppertime,” Mom calls. Slowly, I turn and walk to the house to join the family for supper.

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