God Answers Prayers

It was mid January of 1989 in Cache Valley Utah. Snow was everywhere as is customary that time of year. Our view from the bedroom window of the valley floor was breathtaking. The Wellsville Mountains majestically rose from the west, the sun gleaming at their peaks. From the top of a hill, in the center of the valley, stood the Logan Temple, a focal point I never tired of looking at. Trees, streets and homes were shrouded in a comforter of white, but my soul was somber.

It was a weekday and I should have been at work but I hardly had energy to stand. Worst case of the flu I've ever had, I thought. Food had no appeal and even water was difficult to keep down. My bed, that seldom got much attention, from a busy father of five, had instead become my prison. Nightmares, fever and cold chills had me feeling very low. Rarely was I ever sick and certainly never ill enough to be confined to bed. What was wrong with me? I've got to get better, my family is depending on me. What if I get fired for missing too much time at work? I'd already missed three days. Surely I didn't need to see a doctor, did I? These thoughts passed through my mind again and again and in the delerium of the fever, I could think of little else.

A sound of a door closing downstairs took me from my feverish circle of feelings and I was aware that Suzy, our teenaged, high school daughter was home from school. She was our eldest and full of empathy.

"Dad," she said. Are you still up there?"
"Hi Suz," I said. The best I could manage was a loud whisper.
"Aren't you feeling any better?" she asked, coming up the stairs.
"Just dandy," I muttered, feeling green and weak.
"Oh, Dad, where's Mom? Have you been here all alone?" Her voice sounded overly concerned for a girl who should have been thinking about homework, boys and her own car, not necessarily in that order.

"Mom finally decided to get a new battery for the car. She got tired of waiting for me to do the job and having to jump start the car in the meantime." My tongue felt thick. I always took care of our autos and letting her chase around for another battery made me feel as if I were shirking my husbandly duties, but I had little choice.

"Daddy, I'm so worried. You just don't get sick like this. Shouldn't we call the home teachers and have them give you a blessing or something? When we're sick, you always administer to us. Who's going to administer to you?"

"You're sweet, belly button," I moaned. "But don't worry, I just have a little touch of the flu. I'll probably be on the porch with a shotgun to keep your boyfriends away, before long." The room began to go into a high speed spin.

"This isn't right, Daddy. If you won't get someone to help you, then I guess I'll have to pray for you myself," she said flatly.

I was too drained to argue. She knelt down beside me and held her hand in mine. This was a girl who, a few days before, had not wanted me to hug her, because she didn't feel like being squeezed by her Dad. A girl who couldn't understand why she had to earn her own money to buy a car. A girl who didn't like being "bugged" about her grades at school. A girl who couldn't understand why she had to be in by midnight when "everyone else" got to stay out as late as they wanted.

This same girl was now crying, holding my hand and pouring out her whole soul to God. Even in my agony, I marveled at what was happening. Never had I heard her pray with such depth of conviction. I had never dreamed that my wife and I had penetrated Suzy's emotional barricades enough to have any effect. Somehow, however, all the church meetings and family home evenings and family prayers had gotten through and there she was, believe it or not, praying for me, with astonishing zeal.

Did it take illness to help me understand the real size of my daughter's testimony. She prayed fervently that I would be healed and watched over. She pleaded with Father in Heaven as she would to a respected friend. Her words were neither trite nor superficial, but planted with the deep roots of faith. The words she spoke were not fancy, but altogether genuine and struck me so that I almost expected an audible answer, or to see an angel or feel an instant healing. This was not the case though and my fever and dizziness raged on. She finished her prayer, kissed me and we visited until I heard my wife, Jean, downstairs.

"Hi, love. Are you feeling any better," Jean asked, "or about the same?"
"The same," I weakly answered.
"Oh, ...No!! You've got appendicitis," Jean abruptly called up the stairs.
"What...that's ridiculous, my side doesn't hurt a bit." Once again, my vast medical experience was shining through.

"It's so strange!!" Jean said. "I was staring into the mirror and suddenly the thought came into my mind and I absolutely KNEW what was causing you pain!! I'll get my medical book and look up the symptoms and show you."

She can't be serious, I thought. I just need a little more rest, then maybe the room will stop spinning. Jean quickly came bounding up the stairs and sat beside me.

"I need you to get out of bed and stand up on the floor, not on the rug, in your bare feet," she instructed. "Then I want you to stand on your tip toes and drop to your heels. My medical book says if this sends a shooting pain to your right side, there's a good chance you've got appendicitis."

Complaining and arguing all the way, I finally did as I was told and dropped to my heels. The new pain I felt through my right side, almost caused me to black out.

"I knew it!" Jean said. "Kids, help me get your father downstairs and to the car! We're heading to the hospital!"

"That's impossible. I can't leave the house. I haven't shaved or bathed. I'm a mess. I can't go out in public like this." Once again I was making a lot of sense and so my words were ignored. Scott, our 15 year old son, grabbed one side of me and Suzy the other and off to the car we went. The air was January cold and a blanket was speedily wrapped around me. I had not the energy to sit up in the car and only was able to remain upright because of the auto safety belt. At the outside of the emergency room, my family put me into a wheel chair and pushed me toward the reception desk. I felt so embarrassed and silly but was too drained to protest.

The emergency room staff discovered that my white blood cell count was very high and that my appendix was close to rupturing. Two members of our bishopric gave me a blessing and then in a flurry, I was wisked off to the operating room. It was the sixth appendectomy done that day and not exactly an unusual operation. The procedure was routine and after a few days, it was life as normal, with nothing to show for wear except a pencil line scar.

I know God answers prayers, even for Dad's that are stubborn and think they know for themselves. The doctor told me that, without professional treatment, I might not have lived till morning. Did Suzy know that? How did Jean suddenly know what the problem was? Coincidence? I don't think so. God answers prayers.