The other night I lay down exhausted, and before I fell asleep I began to pray. In fact, I’m pretty sure I fell asleep praying, but I guess there’s really no better way to drift off. I do recall distinctly, though, before succumbing to the sandman asking God for two things.
As I lay down on my comfy, new mattress I still winced before turning on my side. Is this what forty is like, I wondered; before asking for healing, that is. That morning I had been making my bed, and as I briskly pulled the quilt upward I felt a sharp twinge of pain in my lower back. Ouch! How embarrassing to injure oneself in such a manner, and all day I had assumed the ache would go away, yet as I lay in bed it seemed to be all I could feel and think about. Hence my first bedtime prayer.
“Please heal my back, Lord,” I prayed. “Let the pain be completely gone when I wake up! In Jesus name.”
I boldly believed, and as I felt myself drifting away I thanked God for the things in my life, my husband, my children, His provision, and salvation, but I also prayed for a problem I had on occasion. Bad dreams.
“Lord, I pray for good dreams. Let my dreams be from you,” I petitioned. Then I took it a step further. “May they be prophetic dreams.”
I fell asleep with a contented grin, but when I woke some seven hours later it wasn’t a smile upon my face. My eyes blinked groggily on the tale end of a nighttime picture-show, the strange, unwarranted dream still fresh in my brain, and it could only be described with one word. Bad. I had dreamed a bad dream.
I sat up quickly and swung my legs over the side of the bed. Immediately I noticed the surge of pain present in my back. It was worse than yesterday. Way worse! It hadn’t healed overnight at all. In that moment I almost wanted to ask, “did you hear me, God,” but even in my downtrodden thoughts I only spoke one thing. Faith.
“I still trust you, God,” I silently prayed. “No matter what, I trust you.”
Then I got up out of bed, pushing the back pain to the recesses of my mind, as much as I physically could anyway. I did mention it to my husband as we stood together at the coffee maker, but more to hear his thoughts than to complain.
“It will be healed,” he said, as if it had already been done, and I readily agreed.
“I know,” I said, kissing his cheek, and that was the last I thought of my back until later in the evening.
It was a Tuesday, and Tuesdays were our busy days. Homeschool group, a softball double-header, and all the other things I was responsible for in a given day. We rushed about, doing our thing, and it wasn’t until later that night, fixing my dinner plate, that something unusual occurred to me.
My back doesn’t hurt, I thought in surprise, and then I realized it had not bothered me since I told God that I trusted Him, no matter what. When I woke up the pain had been excruciating, and how it had gone from a solid eight to a zero was pretty darn cool. Plus there’s only been good dreams the past two night. I guess He heard me after all.