The Power of Prayer: Never Underestimate It
Lori FreelandLori Freeland, a freelance writer from the Dallas area, holds a bachelor's degree in psychology from the University of Wisconsin-Madison. In her other life, the one BK—before kids—she has worked as a social worker and a certified dyslexic reading tutor. Currently, she embraces her status as full-time homeschool mom to three awesome children. Her big dream? Becoming a Young Adult novelist, a goal she diligently pursues during the wee hours of the morning with help from a very large mug of coffee and occasionally some chocolate-covered peanuts. In addition to blogging and contributing regular inspirational articles to Crosswalk.com, The Christian Pulse, and Believe.com, she loves to mentor new writers and encourage people to share their life stories. As a member of the Cancer Mom club, she desires to connect with others in hopes of giving support to those struggling down the messy paths of life. You can find her hanging with the North Texas Christian Writers as a Critique Group Leader and Writing Coach or cheering on her writers on the Faith Team at The Christian Pulse where she recently took on the role of editor. She also loves to attend Society for Children's Book Writers and Illustrators meetings where she has begun a critique workshop for new writers. You can visit her website at LAFREELAND.COM.
- 2012 Feb 03
My son came home yesterday and greeted me with a few of the most terrifying words a mom never wants to hear. “I almost got killed at the El Dorado intersection in McKinney this morning.” Then he gave me a hug and walked on past.
“What?” I followed him down the hall, my heart racing ahead of me, already up the stairway and in the next room. Didn’t matter the incident was hours old and my tardy visceral response did nothing but hike my blood pressure.
Kyle turned and proceeded to tell me he’d been waiting to turn left, completely missed the guy going straight — you know, the guy with the right of way? — and had to swerve, hit the curb, and almost pop his tire to avoid the accident.
After I leashed my heart back inside my chest for optimal performance, I sagged against the stairs. My first thought? The prayer I murmured over him this morning before he walked out the door.
The same prayer I played on repeat day after day since he slid into that car alone, leaving me whimpering on the curb while his taillights disappeared down the street.
Thank you, Lord, for hearing me when I pray!
“Hear my prayer, O God; listen to the words of my mouth” (Psalm 54:2 NIV).
“But I cry to you for help, LORD; in the morning my prayer comes before you” (Psalm 88:13).