Don't Take Your Foot Off the Gas Pedal

I bowed my head in prayer, pleading earnestly with God to send away the devil's bacteria and fill the house with good angels. My husband had been coughing for the past 2 hours, an unfortunate hanging on of a Covid cough that had appeared more than a month after he'd gotten over Covid. Nothing seemed to help, not steaming, lozenges, little black licorices, honey, hot tea, cough syrup, antihistamine, or salt water gargles. We had tried them all. Nothing made a difference; the only thing that worked was when he slept. He could put himself to sleep in about 10 minutes and once his body had relaxed in sleep, the cough disappeared. By morning, he was right as rain only to repeat the process again the next evening. 

We couldn't figure out what triggered it. The first time, he had wheezed and rattled away in his sleep for nearly 2 hours before his breathing finally smoothed out. After that, though, the wheezing disappeared. He had a hard time breathing deeply but he could get enough oxygen to his lungs. Yet why the cough started, we couldn't understand. Sometimes, eating crackers and hummus set it off. Another time, it seemed to be the salted sunflower seeds. This evening we had gone for a walk and he'd been coughing as we walked but not every couple of minutes. 

Being on an extremely short leash with my anxiety levels soaring, I hadn't managed it very well when he'd started the cough. I would go to another room because I couldn't bear to hear him struggling to take a deep breath and having difficulty doing so. I waited to go to sleep until he was sleeping, because I couldn't relax until I knew he was okay again. I measured his oxygen levels with an oximeter, relieved that they stayed above the danger level, and quizzed him as to whether he had trouble getting enough oxygen into his lungs. 

I can breathe all right, he said, it's just my throat that feels tickly. 

As he started his evening seminar in the study, I began to pray in the living room. I thought of myself as the prayer warrior wife—ready to do battle with the devil for the next two hours. Suddenly, tears formed in the corner of my eyes. I wasn't a prayer warrior type of person. I was just barely holding myself together during these challenging times, let alone able to intercede in that way for another. Anxious that my inability to mentally focus on "storming the gates of heaven" for the next two hours meant my husband would not be able to teach, I was startled when a gentle thought came into my mind. 

I can take care of him. 

He can take care of him, I thought almost wistfully. I'd prayed that God would heal my husband, even if only for 2 hours, telling Him, If You want to, I know You can. Reminiscent of the parables where others had asked Jesus to heal them, I repeated the age old words. But then I realized, I was not the one who determined the final outcome. 

I was not the one with the foot on the gas pedal. 

So many times in life, particularly as Christians, we experience the pressure of feeling like we are the ones in control. If we don't pray hard enough, don't do enough outreach, or don't give enough of our monetary resources, then people will perish and the burden will be on us for failing to tell God what to do. As my husband had started speaking, I had felt like I was responsible to pray for two hours straight, repeating the same phrases over and over, almost like a mantra, in order to appease a God Who had the power to control my husband's impossible cough. 

Yet that wasn't it at all. If God was a loving God, compassionate and caring, then surely He cared not only about the people my husband was talking to but also my husband. He would make it possible for my husband to speak, either with a cough or despite the cough. What mattered was not that my husband was cured because of my Fireproof prayers, but that he had the ability to speak through the challenges. 

Several weeks ago, my husband had gone to apply for a visa. We'd prayed together before he left and, after going 5 times to the same office, his papers were finally accepted. Two days later, he was called to the consulate's office to meet with them. Again, we'd prayed together before he left. This time, however, the consulate informed him that, while his papers were in order, he was not able to grant a visa due to extenuating circumstances. 

Why did God answer the first prayer and not the second? Had I not prayed hard enough or long enough to change His mind? 

When we look in the Bible, there are many examples of prayer. Some are specific to time, such as Moses holding up his arms so the Israelites would win the battle. Or Jesus praying all night to connect with His Father. These were long for a reason. Yet Jesus Himself did not condone long prayers as He pointed out the long prayers of the religious leaders as an example of what not to do. The prayer Jesus taught His disciples was short but meaningful so length obviously was not a requisite to be heard by God. 

The purpose of prayer is to connect with God. Prayer changes us; not God. God is ultimately in control and His decisions are always what is best for us and for the universe, even when those who choose to go against Him seem to be winning. We think God is distant, absent even, and that we have to shout loudly so He will wake up and hear us when this is not Who God is at all. Isaiah prophesied long ago, saying, But have you not heard? It was I, the LORD, Who decided this long ago. Long ago I planned what I am now causing to happen," (Isaiah 37:26)

God loves us. God loves you. God loves me. God is love. If His very essence is love, then will He not take care of us in the midst of the stormy darts that the devil insists on hurling at us? 

Just as God decided long ago what would happen today, God also foresaw the challenges we would face. He knew my husband would be struggling with Covid-cough. He knew people would be waiting to listen to him share the good news. He knew that those who were listening would one day make life-changing decisions for Him. And in the midst of all of that, He cared for my husband so he could speak without obstacle, in God's power and strength moving forward. 

So I said my prayer and in doing so, I knew God heard and would answer. I took my foot off the gas pedal and realized the car was still whizzing down the highway of life. And in that moment, I realized. The car was never powered by gas, anyhow. It was powered by Love.