It’s been a family thing. Praying for grandpa.
Grandpa whose gall bladder needs a miracle.
Grandpa who’s certain he was having surgery on Thursday to part with the thing.
Grandpa who needs a touch from God.
And so each night our kids, still panting from sailing off their beds like squirrels, have closed their eyes and whispered to God…for grandpa.
For a miracle. Why not?
There will be no gall bladder surgery on Thursday. That’s what my dad said. Yesterday’s ultrasound showed no gall stones. Not a one.
I could see in my mind’s eye my dad list on his fingers what he didn’t understand. The symptoms. The pain. The heredity. All of it.
He was their classic case.
Only he’s not now.
“We’ve been praying for you, dad,” I said into my phone. ” All of us.”
My dad sucked in a breath.
“And I can’t wait to tell your grandkids.” I was even giddy at the thought.
And my dad…the one on the side of the road with his cell phone to his ear snuffled, “you’re making me cry.”
Only I realized, it wasn’t me.
But the power of prayer.