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Topic: SWEET HOUR OF PRAYER (don’t write about the song) (04/30/15)
- TITLE: Music to My Ears
By Kristine Baker
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We were just starting our second year at St. Thomas Christian College when news spread that the Dean of Theology, Professor Adams, had been in a rollover automobile accident and was on life support in the ICU. Many of the students and faculty gathered outside the hospital to hold an intercessory prayer vigil. A student passed around the few candles they brought and soon a little glow was formed in the center of the crowd. I was in a group with seven other people who silently joined hands, and with closed eyes took turns praying aloud.
Not only did Donaldâ€™s voice and good looks capture my attention, but also his ability to pray. It was evident that Bible verses were stored in Donaldâ€™s heart since he was not holding a Bible when he began his prayer. He took a deep breath in and began, â€śPsalm one hundred sixteen verse one. I love the Lord because he hears my voice and my prayer for mercy. Lord, have mercy on Professor Adams. In Psalm one hundred forty-five, verses eighteen and nineteen, we know that the Lord is close to all who call on him, yes, to all who call on him in truth. He grants the desires of those who fear him; he hears their cries for help and rescues them. Father, if it is your will, restore Professor Adams to wholeness. In the name of Jesus we pray.â€ť Our group of eight responded in unison, â€śAmen.â€ť
In the time it took for Professor Adams to heal and get back to his job at the college, my relationship with Donald grew. After college, we married and were soon blessed with twins, Jacob and Hannah. Donaldâ€™s faith was never shaken and he was the spiritual leader of our household.
A month into retirement, Donald tripped over a medium-sized root sticking out of the ground from the large tree in our back yard. When he fell, we both heard his bone snap in his left arm. I ran into the house to grab a large towel from the linen cabinet and formed it into a sling to help keep his arm stable for the ride into town, to the hospital, for medical attention. The emergency room doctor said the ice pack that we applied so quickly helped keep the swelling down. The diagnosis was much more than a broken arm. Through a series of tests, we found out Donald had Stage IV bone cancer that metastasized to his liver.
Three months into retirement, Donaldâ€™s health declined quickly, despite chemotherapy treatments. Hospice delivered a hospital bed to our home and three days later, Donald became comatose. The Hospice nurse believed that he could still hear us when we spoke to him, so without hesitation, Jacob, his wife Lisa, Hannah, her husband Tim, and I began an intercessory prayer vigil around Donaldâ€™s bed. We silently joined hands, and with closed eyes took turns praying aloud.
Just like the first time I heard Donaldâ€™s voice, I had to open my eyes to look at him. Without opening his eyes, Donald spoke clearly in his rich, deep bass vocals that were music to my ears. He prayed, â€śJohn three, verse sixteen. For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, so that everyone who believes in him will not perish, but have eternal life.â€ť
Through tear-filled eyes, I continued to watch Donald smile as he released his final outbreath.
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