Standing in an Answered Prayer

For Desiree - thanks for encouraging me to get back to writing.

In June of 2006, I was finishing a year of teaching English in Nanchang, China. Questions about what life would look like upon returning to America wrapped around me and clung thickly like the southern China humidity. My sending organization held a debriefing conference in Los Angeles before releasing us to our respective homes. Part of some reflection work involved writing ourselves a letter and the organization would mail them six months later. I poured out my heart about lessons learned in China, and filled the back of the paper with hopes for America. I addressed the envelope to my parents’ house, not knowing for sure where I would be living.

By the time six months had passed, I had forgotten about the letter. It was interesting to receive mail for myself, addressed in my own handwriting. I snuggled into my favorite reading chair and read what Past Brooke had to say. It was so encouraging. Sweet memories of students and everyday life rose to the surface. There was a no excuses challenge to not be living a “safe” life but rather, to be getting out in the uncomfortable places, living like Jesus. Nanchang Brooke had prayed to be living with Elisa, teaching with a particular district, and spending lots of time with family (whom I had missed greatly during my time away).

I looked at my surroundings – my peaceful bedroom at Elisa’s house, ten minutes away from my parents and five minutes from my brother and sister-in-law, and realized I was standing in an answered prayer. My job prayer was absolutely true too. Plus, I was teaching the nicest group of kids I’d had in a while. Each hope was answered, not just sufficiently, but abundantly.

So often, I am honed in on the aching, the wanting, and the things I’m praying for but have yet to see. I am in a season of some really sad loss and am yearning for healing. I ache to see God change my current reality. And yet, just like all those years ago at Elisa’s house, today I am standing in an answered prayer.

Here I stand, imperfect and messy, but with both feet firmly planted in today, grateful to my loving God for hearing my prayers.


Thank You, God, that I get to live by Green Lake.
Thank You for a home with beautiful natural light.
Thank You for a walkable community.
Thank You for close relationships with my family.
Thank You for a wonderful job, with an irreplaceable teammate teacher next door.
Thank You for a view of the mountains.
Thank You for almost completely eradicating panic attacks from my life (Oh, how I cried out to God for this
          one. For months and months and months, every time a panic attack cinched my breathing passages
          and made my heart race, TODAY’S REALITY is what I cried to Him for. Bless You, God!).
Thank You for daily freeing me from sugar cravings (a miracle, if you ask me!).
Thank You for giving me the willingness and ability to forgive in places where I wanted to hang on to hurt.

Praise be to God, who has not rejected my prayer, or withheld His love from me!

-Psalm 66:20

Prayer Dents

On a sweltering July day in Managua, Nicaragua, thirteen years ago, I met a prayer warrior.


I was in Nicaragua for two weeks with a small group of teenagers and adults from church, to build a school shelter and put on puppet shows for the local kids. One morning, our youth pastor took us to a poor section of town to meet a woman named Ruby. We smiled awkwardly at neighbors who came out of their tiny houses as we followed the pastor like ducklings through dirt and debris. Then, we came to Ruby’s house.


I was nineteen, Ruby was older. How much older? I have no idea. From my nineteen year old perspective, she looked at least fifty, but not past seventy. I was tall, Ruby was shorter. The top of her head came just to my armpit level. Her graying black curls peeked out from under a little white bonnet that reminded me of Strawberry Shortcake’s hat. Ruby wore a vivid, dark pink dress and her round, tan face was alive with well worn smile lines.


She invited us in, and we perched on stools and straight back chairs around her rocking chair. Every chair, table, and surface was adorned with some colorful bit of crochet work. Even the knobs at the top of Ruby’s rocking chair had little crochet hats, mimicking her own cap. She rocked and smiled at us, her legs too short for her feet to touch the ground.

Our pastor translated for us as Ruby told us of her work in the neighborhood. We were visitors for a couple of hours, while she had devoted her life to praying for and reaching out to the troubled young people there. At one point, she lifted her hem just enough to show us her knees. They were black, bruised, and each had a gnarled protrusion. Why? Because of prayer. Every morning, she spent hours on her knees, praying for the youth in her neighborhood. Warrior is the only word for her. Ruby went to battle. It showed in the marks on her knees and in the young people who turned from drugs and now follow Jesus.


This July, I’ve had the privilege of spending slow mornings reading the Bible and journaling prayers with God. I feel like communication with God opens up better when I write and don’t look at the clock. This morning, my finger began to hurt where the pen pushes into it. I rubbed the side of my finger gently with my thumb. There’s a dent there. I know it’s from a lifetime of writing (and probably holding my pen too tightly, like I tell my students not to), but it made me think of Ruby’s prayer knees. I like to think that my dented finger is the beginning of my badge of prayer warrior-ship. Ruby battled on her knees, and I battle with pen and journal. I hope that like Ruby, I will begin to see my community blessed and thriving as God answers prayers and has authority in all of our lives.


Make a dent today.

Anne Prayer

In this world, there are two kinds of people: those who love Anne of Green Gables and those whose sister and mom once forced them to watch Anne of Green Gables. I am a proud member of the first group. As you may know, Anne had a propensity for getting into trouble nearly every day. I remember sitting with my mom, watching Anne blast Mrs. Linde for criticizing her carrot hair, or the time she fell off the ridge pole of Moody’s kitchen roof to one-up Josie Pye. In any given situation, Anne could find an accident. I felt for Anne. She didn’t mean to be the center of so much calamity. Every time I watched the movies, I took comfort in her beloved teacher, Miss Stacy’s encouragement: “Tomorrow is always fresh with no mistakes in it.”

As I sit on my bed here in the waking moments of my very own mistake-free-tomorrow, I am scared. I know myself. I am liable to make a mistake and tarnish the day before I’ve even left the house. Mistakes creep up on me like that: accidentally annoying my roommate, putzing on my computer instead of doing the Bible study I usually do when I eat my cereal, or stubbing my toe and cursing – even though I haven’t said a swear word in weeks. Heck, I am capable of messing up even when I’m trying to be nice. A homeless man could reject my offer to buy him a cup of coffee. I could make a joke that shames one of my students. Did Miss Stacy think about any of this when she dispensed her tidy counsel?




So here, I offer my Anne Prayer, for those of us who need space to mess up.

Good Morning Lord,
Today, I soak in the awareness, in the grace, of being held in Your ample hand.
Whether I am strong or weak; wise or foolish; proud or humble,
Here I am.
My connection to and place in You is the only thing that matters.
Whether I stand tall or fall flat on my face today, I know that I am undeniably secure on this unalterable foundation of “okay”.
I desire to do what is right and I will let You define what right means today.
I am really glad that I am acceptable today – all day – just because of my location.
Thank You for the death You died that allows me to find rest in Your hands today.
Amen.