My Dad Can Still Pray

(This post appeared in the Fall, 2021, collection of Live, the adult take-home paper of the Assemblies of God.)

Sunday morning, July 2, 2018, started out pretty much normally. My husband and I decided to attend church with my 92-year-old dad, an hour and a half from our home. Since my sister’s death two years earlier, I had tried to visit him weekly, twice if possible, sometimes getting him his favorite McDonald’s sandwich after visiting his church. 

Sis and I had tag-teamed while she was alive--she was retired and lived closer, so she stopped by frequently, but I called him often and helped with his medical appointments. After her death, I was overwhelmed and concerned. I was starting to notice things—an occasional overlooked bill, no signs of meal prep other than cereal or sandwiches—but Dad insisted he was fine. He resisted efforts to spruce up his house and add safety precautions, and said he didn’t need Meals on Wheels, although I did convince him to let me do some light cleaning and a weekly load of laundry.  

That morning, his car wasn’t there when we pulled up at church. I asked an usher, who said the Sunday school teacher had been concerned when Dad didn’t show up. He hadn’t answered his phone, and a class member was thinking of going to investigate. My heart sank—I had tried to call the night before with no answer, but hadn’t worried because it was a little past his usual bedtime. We sped to his house. The door was open, and through the screen, across the entry, I saw what I had feared—my dad lying prone on the kitchen floor.

So began my initiation into serious elderly parent caregiving. After a rehab stay, Dad wanted to return home, so I quit my job and hired helpers. After several trips to the ER, though—infections, another fall—I could not continue under the stress and made plans to put him into long-term care. Paperwork was overwhelming—what if Dad outlived his savings? What would happen to his house, modest but paid for? In many details, my sister and I hadn’t known what we didn’t know. With no grandchildren living close enough to help much, and my husband dealing with his own elderly parent while working to keep our bills paid, I felt terribly alone. 

And I was mad at God. What purpose could He possibly have in keeping Dad around to become increasingly frustrated with his physical limitations? Another trip to the ER with infection and fever-related dementia—should I sign a “do not rescusitate” order, per Dad’s documented request? How much medicine should he get? And if he pulled through, should I spend money for an asset protection plan to save his house? Every time I heard about someone’s elderly parent passing suddenly, I envied them being spared the hard choices. 

One day, my youngest son accompanied me to the nursing home to visit. Luke was going through his own tough time: a recent college graduate with decisions to make, working a get-by job, he had suffered a fall and a broken arm—not the easiest thing for a concert violinist. Dad noticed the arm sling and asked what had happened. Luke tried to make light of it, but it occured to me we should ask Dad to pray for Luke’s upcoming surgery. 

My dad has been a prayer warrior for as long as I can remember. After accepting Christ when I was a toddler, he regularly called our family together at bedtime. As we knelt on a cold linoleum floor, the fire dying down in the woodstove, he prayed, thanking God for his job and our home, praying for the sick, praying for protection. His prayer life had sustained him through the deaths of my mother, stepmother, his three brothers, and my sister. He had coordinated the prayer ministry for his church. More than one missionary had testified of being in a tough spot, knowing someone was praying for them, and finding out later that my dad had been inspired to pray just at the moment of need. 

One night several years earlier, a cousin, in poor health and not yet a believer, had become confused and left his house in the middle of the night in freezing weather, wearing shorts and flip-flops. Fifty miles away, Dad was awakened by an urgent prompting to pray. Later, we found out a neighbor was unexpectedly called in to work around the time my dad prayed. He was on the road at the right time to find my cousin, who survived for several weeks before succumbing to complications—just enough time to hear the gospel one more time and accept Christ. 

Now, standing with Luke at Dad’s bedside, I said, “Dad, Luke has surgery scheduled to make sure his arm heals properly. Would you like to pray for him?” A frail hand reached out to grasp Luke’s. And as Dad prayed, the Holy Spirit’s presence was almost tangible. Powerful words of intercession poured from lips that only a short time earlier could barely force out “Good morning.” A few days later, not only was Luke’s surgery successful but he also received a good opportunity to move forward with his career. 

I was starting to see that Dad’s purpose for living wasn’t yet over, but a few weeks after the incident with Luke, I again got the phone call, “We’re taking your dad to the ER.” A cough had escalated suddenly into pneumonia. Once again, I found myself sitting by a hospital bed. Watching him struggle to breathe, I thought, “This is probably it,” and began texting the grandkids. Not only was Dad struggling physically, he was hallucinating. His bed was a car, we were lost in a snowstorm and couldn’t find a place to stay; my deceased stepmother was with us and I (of course!) was driving. I listened helplessly as he called out, “Why don’t you stop? We need to get out of this!” Then a thought came—“Tell him to pray.” 

“Seriously? The man is out of his mind!” But leaning over the bed rail, I said, “I don’t know what to do. Why don’t you pray?” 

Dad prayed. His prayer didn’t make a lot of sense—he still thought we were lost—but as he prayed, a calm presence filled the room. He settled down and slept. And I began to think. Even in such weakness, the habit of prayer was still there, and it was still powerful. Is God having trouble raising up a new generation to pray like that? What if someone like my dad—now 94 and literally worn out—has to stick around because I’m not stepping up to the plate to pray like I should? 

I knew what I needed to do. I prayed. I asked God to give me renewed fervor for prayer and new sensitivity to his prompting, along with peace about his perfect timing and provision for my dad. 

I still don’t understand everything about prayer. Why, for example, would Dad be inspired to pray for my cousin, but not when my sister’s aneurysm ruptured? Was someone else supposed to pray and didn’t respond? Why would one missionary escape a tough spot while another was martyred? Or the apostle John see his brother beheaded but Peter walk free to minister more years, and miraculously survive persecution himself? I’m pretty sure it isn’t because he didn’t pray. 

Prayer, I realize, isn’t a vending machine where you put in the right words and out comes the candy. Rather, it’s a powerful connection to the One who knows all, sees all, and works all for good to those who love him. Even a broken heart, failing mind, or frail body doesn’t break that connection, and that’s why Jesus taught his followers to do it. 

One thing’s for sure, Dad wouldn’t want me to worry about it. He would, however, want me to pray about it. 

Dad didn’t do computers or social media, but he was interested in the font size adjustment that allowed him to read his favorite Psalm easily!