Your Prayer(s)

Why doesn’t God heal everyone? Why do some prayers seem to be answered and lives are saved, and other times people die? At least in this case, I think I know.  One of you made the difference.

I attended Asbury Seminary when Dr. Frank Bateman Stanger was President.  I later became his pastor when he retired.  I will never forget writing a doctrinal statement (for Christ Church, Lexington, Ky),  "What we believe", and then nervously calling Dr. Stanger after I wrote and published it asking, "Is this what I believe?"  
He assured me it was.  Healing of the body was part of the statement...a very small part.  But I was heavily influenced by him  in so many ways.  He was the first "main line" United Methodist protestant to teach and  practice divine healing.  (I like to say I was the second.)  At the end of his life, and the end of my pastorate in Kentucky, he asked me to perform (perform is such a wrong word) a service of healing for him.   I followed all the steps he had taught me (they are in his book).  He wanted to keep it private, although he believed healing was a community (church) ministry.  So it was what I would call semi/private.   It was only private in the sense that people with negative attitudes were not invited.  If you were there, you remember.

The Seminary President before him, Dr. J.C. McPheeters was also one of my mentors.   When Dr. McPheeters was 92, I was 29.   We went on a ten day hunting trip to South Dakota together.   Dr. "Mac" had been healed of tuberculosis many years before.  At 92, he could lift more weight than any college kid he challenged.  He could also physically wear out a 29 year old by making him haul his barbells around....but

I will tell you much more about Dr. Stanger and Dr. McPheeters in future chapters.   But let me get back to my story for now...     

I pray in different volumes.  God knows this. He understands. When things are going well, I tend to be more academic and businesslike in my prayer life. But when I fall in a pit, I yell, “God get me out”, and I mean it.

Frankly, I didn’t have time to pray. I was too busy telling the EMT’s my pain level between 1-10 was a 10. I was busy remembering all the stupid things I had done in my life. I was ready to die in the sense of going to heaven. I have had that assurance… through grace… for over 40 years.

But I wondered what unfinished business would come back to haunt me. Were all the bills paid? Will Barbara find the will? Being devoted to my job, I thought, “I can’t die now. I have two organizational meetings and two contracts to sign today”.

Being devoted to my family, I wondered, “When did I last tell Barbara and my kids how much I loved them?” I was too busy thinking to pray.

So instead, you prayed for me.

Barbara kept a wonderful journal starting that night. “To my precious darling, Danny…a journey none of us will ever forget”, it began. “To my loving, precious husband, we are all praying for you and love you with all our heart!”

That journal, and the prayers inside, saved my life. At the time most of it was prayed and written, I was unconscious with a badly damaged heart (possibly awaiting a transplant) , lungs suspected of having pneumonia and not a good outlook at all. Many of you wrote your prayers in the journal. Most are way too private to print here without your permission. Some were serious, some funny.

My high school friend, Ben Ferrell, flew in from Tulsa. “Alright, Danny…you’re gonna have to get up and go.”, he wrote. “Coach Johnson about killed us…we survived that”. Anyone reading this who grew up playing football with us in Kentucky understands. A heart attack is nothing compared to two-a-days under Coach Johnson or Coach Walton. “You are a fighter, you can make it. The Lord of Hosts is with you. In Jesus Name we stand and fight for you and your life.” Believe me, when you have a heart attack, you want Ben Ferrell on your side.

These beautiful, written prayers from family members Tim, Sue, and Nancy,  and friends like Kim, Marty, Tony and Penny andmany  others unsigned, were heard and heralded. Prayer requests went out from Nancy (Barbara’s sister) to the Atlanta Women’s Bible Study, from Warren Lathem to the facebook community, to the Olan Mills family where I had worked…and many more networks too numerous to mention.

My children prayed. My wife prayed.  Those who know me the best prayed with those to whom I was only a name and opportunity to see what God would do.

So I firmly believe my life was spared because to not do so would have irreparably damaged the faith of one of you. I don’t know which one, maybe more than one. But I think I know at least one. In other words…amidst all the hundreds of prayers…one of you made the difference. And it wasn’t because you were a spiritual giant God owed a miracle to. It was because your faith and future lay in the balance.

So now I know. We have all prayed and won. We have all prayed and lost. We have all prayed and wept, "Why God, why?" So now I know.  Sometimes, for some reason, one prayer really matters. If you meditate on this, I think you may understand and know, too.