Prayer lays hold of God's plan and becomes the link between His will and its accomplishment on earth. Amazing things happen, and we are given the privilege of being the channels of the Holy Spirit's prayer.
—Elisabeth Elliot
In May 2001, God blessed our family with a baby girl. This baby created a lot of excitement as the news flew like wildfire. “Did you hear Ivans have a girl?” Her only sister was 14 years old, and the last five babies had been boys. Such a special baby deserved a special name. We named her Judith Irene after her grandmother and called her Judy for short.
The first 24 hours after birth, Judy grunted and squawked almost continuously. “She is disgruntled about being born,” I joked. After that first day she settled into a normal baby routine with no sign of anything unordinary.
One morning when Judy was about 18 months old, I was in the living room having my personal devotions. She was in the adjoining kitchen when we heard an odd noise—a rhythmical scratch-thunk. I looked quizzically at Ivan. “What is that noise?” With raised eyebrows, he shrugged his shoulders. When the sounds continued, I got curious enough to heft myself out of my rocking chair and trudge toward the source of the sounds. An uneasy suspicion reared its head in the back of my mind and grew with every step I took. When I entered the kitchen, Judy lay on the floor, jerking rhythmically. I had never seen anyone in a seizure before, but somehow, I just knew. She’s having a seizure!
“Shall we call 911?” Ivan headed toward the phone. I debated. Since Ivan was a firefighter, we had an emergency scanner in the house. After hearing countless calls over the years and knowing it could sometimes take the ambulance a while to respond, I wasn't at rest waiting at home while our daughter was seizing.
“Let’s take her in.” I wasn’t willing to sit there and wait until help arrived.
Judy was still jerking. Ivan scooped her off the floor and handed her to me so he could get his keys. Holding Judy close, I headed for the door. “Bring my shoes,” I called over my shoulder as I hurried stocking-footed down the porch steps and toward the pickup truck parked in the lower driveway. Ivan passed me up, opened the door for me, and ran around to the driver’s side. Coming down the short, steep hill, my feet slipped in the morning dew, and I landed halfway under the truck with one leg forward and the other one bent back under me. For an instant, I thought I had broken my leg, but after a stunned second or two, I got to my feet, gathered my precious burden, and struggled into the pickup. Judy was still jerking and, worse yet, was no longer breathing properly. Saliva pooled in the corners of her mouth, turning into foam. Oh my baby! What is wrong with her? Is she going to die?! It’s amazing how many thoughts can run through your mind in a situation like this. Why, oh why doesn’t Ivan drive faster? She’s not breathing! I glanced over at the speedometer. It was pointed hard right. Oh, he was driving fast. With my whole body and mind, I willed us to be at the hospital.
We had a straight drive to the hospital, and Ivan pulled right up to the emergency entrance. I jumped out of the truck with my baby, yelled over my shoulder to bring my shoes along in, and ran for the emergency door. A nurse was just coming around the corner and I all but threw my precious baby into her startled arms. “She’s having a seizure!” I squeaked out. The nurse took one look at Judy, turned, and rushed down the hall with me at her heels. By the time we got into a room, Judy had finally stopped seizing. As she lay on the stretcher, semi-comatose, she went into a second, milder seizure.
Once she came out of the second seizure and things calmed down, the doctor ordered some tests. After reviewing the test results, the doctor decided she had experienced a febrile seizure, one that results from body temperature moving up or down too rapidly. He said they were common in babies and young children and didn’t seem too concerned. My mothering instincts questioned his diagnosis, but I was no doctor so we went with what he said.
This was our introduction to the world of seizures. A few weeks later she had another seizure. And then another. Our parents encouraged us to get a second opinion. This second doctor decided that Judy should have an MRI, even though the first doctor still maintained that she was just having febrile seizures and wasn’t in any hurry to do the MRI. Several weeks passed until they worked her into the schedule. The day after the MRI, we got a call from the doctor’s office. An appointment with a neurosurgeon had been made for two days later. The situation had changed from “no hurry” to “you will be there, no questions asked”. The neurosurgeon said Judy had an AVM and tried to explain what that was, but most of the information soared right over my head. An appointment for an angiogram was scheduled, and explanations of procedures and requirements for us as her parents were added to my spinning brain. As I tried to digest all the information I was receiving in one phone call, I realized they were preparing for the possibility of surgery.
Our prayers were getting more earnest as we progressed through an EEG (brain scan looking for seizure activity) and more doctor visits. We desired healing for our baby so she could live a normal life. Our faith in God came into play as we tried to resign ourselves to His will. Friends, family, and acquaintances all joined us in prayer.
We owned a bulk food store, and many local non-Mennonite folks knew us. We had become good friends with some Christians from a local church. When they heard of the circumstances, they asked if they could have a prayer meeting to lay hands on Judy and pray for her healing. Although the church we attended did not generally do this, we appreciated their sincerity and faith in God, so we agreed to it.
The evening came when we gathered at their church with their pastor and some of the members who knew us. They took turns praying and claimed God’s healing for Judy because they “knew” it was His will to heal her. They specifically asked that the doctors wouldn’t find anything when they did the angiogram. Then they asked us to pray. Although not used to praying out loud, particularly in front of other people, we had confidence that God could heal our baby and wanted to do our part. We prayed for God’s will and voiced our acceptance of whatever He chose.
The next day, we made the hour-and-a-half drive to Madison Children’s Hospital for the angiogram. The purpose for this test was to identify what was causing her seizures and to find its exact location. After the test, we went home to await the results.
I didn’t want my lack of faith to block my daughter’s healing, and I knew God could heal her, but who was I to tell Him what to do? As I struggled through it, we waited for news from the doctor.
Two days later we got a phone call from the doctor’s office. The nurse on the line told us the angiogram hadn’t shown anything! It seemed to puzzle them. It wasn’t at all what they had expected, and they didn’t understand why they couldn’t find the problem. Praise God! We marveled at the miracle He had wrought.
When we took Judy to her next appointment with the neurosurgeon, I asked him what Judy’s problem was since the angiogram found nothing unusual. He said it appeared she had a small amount of bleeding on her brain, but not to worry about it. I thought that was one of the strangest statements I ever heard. I had always been under the impression that bleeding on the brain is very serious and not to be ignored. But I was pretty sure I knew what had happened and told the doctor about the prayers. His response was noncommittal, and I couldn’t tell what he really thought.
They scheduled Judy for a second doctor’s visit and MRI in six months, which I thought was a little strange, considering that they didn’t think there was anything wrong with her. I wasn’t planning to need that MRI or appointment since I believed God had healed her.
That summer, we weaned her off her seizure medications, and she appeared to be healthy. The six months were almost over, and we believed her problems were behind us.
Then, one week before the scheduled MRI, she had a seizure. What a shock! How could this be? Hadn’t God healed her?? What was happening? I felt betrayed. All I could ask was, “Why?” And now what were we going to do?
Such emotional turmoil and soul-searching! I felt let down and shaken in my faith. I had believed in God and that was finally where I ended up every time when I struggled. Solid as a rock under all the turmoil was the truth that God is, and His ways are far above my understanding. I found at the core of my belief in God a safe place where He knows and has my best interest in mind. And that plan might not include the things I want to happen in my limited earth-view.
What if His plan was higher? What if there was someone we would encounter through our medical journey who needed to see Christ in us? Were we willing to be His witness at the expense of our comfort and an easier life?
Our precious little girl ended up having brain surgery at only three and a half years old. Dealing with seizures, surgery, and countless tests over the years caused us no small amount of stress, but God had and still has a plan, and the “whys” we ask might not be revealed until we see Him face to face.
So, does God always answer prayer? I say yes, He does. Sometimes He says, “Yes,” and we get what we want; sometimes, His answer is“No,” and we do not get what we ask for. Sometimes, He whispers, “Wait”, and in His own time and way, He allows us our heart’s desire. Like a child who trusts his parents, I will leave the answers to my prayers in the hands of our almighty God and trust Him to know what is best for my life.
