A Double Healing

"Bonnie, help me!” I bolted upright in bed, the words ringing in my ears.

I turned over and looked at the clock through bleary eyes. It read 2:00 a.m. Beside me, my husband slept soundly. I must have been dreaming…I thought.

I certainly knew the voice that had cried out for my help. It was my ex-husband, Owen.

No man had caused me more pain than Owen had before our divorce. Eight years later I couldn’t think of him without resentment. But the words I heard had been so clear, so desperate. Bonnie, help me!

I slipped quietly out of bed, padded into the family room and sat down on the sofa. My mind was filled with bad memory after bad memory. Owen’s alcoholism. His unfaithfulness. The hurt our son, Kirk, experienced when his father finally moved out, leaving us to fend for ourselves.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that Owen needed my prayers right now. But how could I pray for the man when I had such unresolved bitterness toward him in my own heart?

“God,” I began, “help Owen.”

That small prayer sounded false even to my own ears. I took a deep breath and tried again. “Owen needs you, God,” I prayed. “Whatever trouble he’s in, please be with him now.”

I sat there silently for a long while, finally at peace that God had heard my prayers, then headed back to bed.

The next morning I got a phone call from Kirk, who was away at college. “Mom, Dad’s in the hospital,” he said. “He has hepatitis. Grandma called and told me that they almost lost him during the night. But early this morning his temperature broke suddenly and the medication took hold. He’s off the critical list now!”

I talked to my son for a minute more before hanging up the phone. Then I took a minute to say a prayer of gratitude, gratitude that came from someplace deep inside me.

For the first time in years, I felt no resentment, no anger toward Owen. Not a shred. I truly wanted what was best for him. I wanted God to help him, to heal him at last.

No, Owen wasn’t the only one who was healed that night.