Suddenly, my knees felt weak underneath me. I flashed back to my
prayers alone, raging at God, and my prayers in the waiting room, quiet
and desperate. I remembered how scared I was, agonizing over whether
Colton would hang on through the surgery, whether he’d live long enough
for me to see his precious face again. Those were the longest, darkest
ninety minutes of my life.
And Jesus answered my prayer? Personally? After I had yelled at God,
chastising him, questioning his wisdom and his faithfulness?
Why would God even answer a prayer like that? And how did I deserve
his mercy?