Our eldest has been dealing with the big college decision along with a several disappointments during her senior year. I came home the other night and just felt the urge to pray with her. Being a teen, she spends most of her time in her ultra-neat and clean room, so I knocked and got a quiet reply.

When I opened the door, the light was off. She had obviously been sleeping, but she looked at me and talked quite coherently. I sat on the edge of the bed and told her what I wanted. She agreed and laid back while I beseeched God for wisdom and direction for her. I am not a deep prayer and my words don’t string together poetically like some folks I’ve been around. I love hearing someone like that pray, though. You sometimes feel like you’ve been taken to the very throne room of God. I wish I could be that eloquent. Since I’m not, I pray like the simple child that I am.

It was a very sweet time. I couldn’t help reminisce about bygone days when I would sit on the edge of a smaller bed and say prayers over a  little bundle with curly hair, pacifier, and her Arthur jammies – sleeping in touchdown position. Precious. A little tear formed in the corner of my eye as I whispered, ‘Amen’ and kissed her on the forehead. Our times like this are running desperately short.

I wondered if she felt the same tug on her heart as she looked up at me innocently. I wondered right up until she grunted in a nasty voice, “You smell funny!” and nudged me off the bed with her leg.

I got up off the floor, realizing she’d been asleep the entire time and didn’t hear a word of my prayer.

But God heard.