It was the night before my daughter was going to Washington D..C. on a field trip.
Earlier that day she had seen a documentary preparing her for the trip. In the movie, it revealed the Unnamed Soldiers Grave, a grave cite dedicated to all the soldiers that died for our country, yet couldn’t be found.
This touched her immensely, as every night for the past two years, at the end of our prayers, she prays for the soldiers.
“Keep them warm and safe. Help their families not miss them. and bring them home.”
I have always been amazed at her heartfelt compassion, as I never prodded any of her prayers. These prayers were straight from the heart.
‘Mom,” she said solemnly, “they are going to pick someone to lay a wreath on the soldier’s grave. I want them to pick me.”
“Well honey, how many children are they choosing from?” I questioned, preparing her for the reality of the impossible.
“Eighty eight.” She said confidently, not grasping what I was gently try to tell her.
“If they pick me, I need to have my shirt ironed. There can’t be one wrinkle in it, because it shows honor and respect. So, can you do it for me?”
“Of course, honey” I responded futilely ironing away. Doesn’t she get that one in eighty eight odds, is just not going to happen?? As a mother, I didn’t want to get her hopes up when they called another name. So, I had to prepare her for the truth.
“Do you think that one in eighty eighty is a good chance/” Okay, this has to bring some reality into the picture.
“Maybe mom, if we pray. So, let’s be sure my shirt is perfectly pressed.”
I kissed her good-bye, in her perfectly pressed white shirt, feeling as proud as any mother could be. My little girl, so confident, so full of belief, off to Washington D.C.
Okay, what do I do now? She still has hope, and I have none. I need to pray, not just an ordinary prayer, but a really big one for my little girl.
I drug out two chairs, and placed each one side by side at the end of the hallway.
One for Father God, and one for Jesus. I didn’t want to pray from my cozy chair on earth, I wanted to go directly to the Throne Room.
And so I knelt before the chairs, and started my prayer.
“Father God and Lord Jesus, I am coming to you in the Throne Room, and laying a request before you. My daughter loves the soldiers, she has been praying for them for two years straight. She wants to lay a wreath on their grave, and she believes that she will be chosen. I know this is beyond impossible. But I am coming to you, and asking,
‘Will you do this for her? Will you make the impossible happen? If there is anything I have done to please you, will you take that as an offering for this request. Amen.”
It was the next day, while I was shopping for Christmas presents for her when I got her text as she wasn’t allowed to call.
Mom they picked me!
I screamed, I jumped up and down, “they picked her, they picked her! “ I felt like Scrooge on Christmas Day, enlightened.
“God, thank-you, thank-you, thank-you. I just can’t believe you did that for me!’
“Would you do anything for your daughter? Don’t you think I would do anything for you?
My love for you is immeasurable. Your smallest desire is my greatest concern.
Because of that, the odds are 100 percent that I will give it to you. And yes, you have done something to please Me beyond measure, you were born.’