The child was so small he looked lost in the neonatal intensive care incubator, swimming in a sea of wires and mon itors. His fingers were frail, no thicker than matchsticks.
“He's doing all right,” the nurse whispered with a smile. “Your pastor prayed over him a couple hours after he was born. Everything's been very stable ever since then.”
Jake's lips turned upward in a sad smile as he considered the nurse's words. Prayer, again. The same thing he'd done so little of in the last ten years. He gazed at his son—his lungs not yet developed, struggling against the odds to survive— and he made a decision. If prayer was what it would take, then he would see to it that as many people as possible were praying for them.
“God's going to take care of you, son,” he whispered, still looking at the infant. He thought about the pastor in the air port chapel. “We'll have people praying for you across this whole country.”
The phone calls began right away. Jake contacted friends in New Jersey and Kansas and asked them to pray.
“And please have your church pray for them,” he'd tell the people he spoke with. “Ask your friends to call people they know and then have their churches start praying. Please. We need everyone praying.”
The prayer chain grew. Missouri, Wisconsin, Michigan. Military bases across the country. By that night, thousands of people were praying for Laura and their newborn baby. The prayers were so many that Jake was not surprised that evening when doctors were finally able to stop Laura's bleeding. In the past four days she'd been transfused with more than one hundred units of blood. “Everything is not as good as it seems,” the doctor told Jake. “She's lost so much blood, there's a strong possibility she'll have brain damage. Also, many of her organ functions have shut down. Everything ex cept her heart and her brain at this point.”
“Okay, so how long will it be before she can be out of here?” Jake said.
The doctor stared blankly at Jake. “What I'm saying is that she has less than a 1 percent chance of living. If she does live, she could be brain damaged. She could be bedridden the rest of her life.”
Jake was silent, soaking in the news. His entire life had changed in less than a week. But even as the doctor waited for him to react, he began praying again, silently asking God to heal his wife. The doctor cleared his throat and contin ued.
“Another thing, Jake. She's going to need a lot more blood. Maybe you could put a call in to your church friends and see if some of them might be willing to donate.”
Jake made the call that night, and within two days there were more than four hundred units of blood in Laura's ac count. At least the blood problem was solved.
“What else can we do?” one of their church friends asked Jake. “We feel so helpless out here.”
“Pray,” Jake said simply.
He had never been one to openly discuss his faith. It hadn't come naturally as a fighter pilot, nor as a pilot for the airlines. In those worlds a man needed to be cocksure and confident, macho in every way. Not dependent on prayer.
But now he found it the most natural thing in the world.The doctors were taking care of Laura's physical needs. The others needed to pray.
For the next ten days Jake and Laura's mother alternated taking twelve hour shifts with Laura and then back at home with the boys. Although she did not regain consciousness during that time, Laura made a steady recovery.
Then, almost three weeks after the baby's birth, Laura's condition suddenly took a drastic turn for the worse. Once again she began bleeding uncontrollably throughout her body. Because her organs were already weak, her stomach ruptured, forcing doctors to perform emergency surgery. They removed more than half of Laura's stomach and at tempted to close off the areas where she was bleeding. She survived surgery, but doctors gave her almost no chance to live.
“It's miraculous that she's made it this far, Jake, but the truth is very clear. She's dying,” the doctor said when the surgery was done. “You'll need to tell the boys.”
The next morning, Jake pulled his sons close to him and told them that their mother was expected to die. With tears in their innocent eyes, the boys immediately joined hands with their father and prayed that God would let their mommy live.
Despite the gravity of Laura's condition, doctors allowed Cody, eight, and Carl, six, to visit their mother in the intensive-care unit that day. At one point Laura's eyes opened, but she did not respond to her boys' presence in the room. That evening after the children had gone home, Laura's fever soared to more than 105 degrees. Doctors braced for the inevitable, but Laura clung to life throughout the night as Jake and Pastor Ryan prayed continuously in the waiting room.
The next day, Sunday, was Laura's birthday. Ryan and Jake knew that most likely it would also be the day she died. The pastor left Jake early in the morning and reported to church, where he was scheduled to preach at 8:45 that morning.
“I've been thinking about Laura West,” he told the con gregation. “How today is her birthday and yet she lies dying in a hospital bed having never seen her newborn son and with two other sons waiting at home for her,” he said. His voice was shaky and lack of sleep was evident in his eyes. “I know we're praying for her, but I'm not sure we're doing everything we can to call upon God's divine assistance.”
Evan held up a sheet of paper that read “The Laura Prayer Chain” across the top. “So today, we are going to or ganize. I'll be passing this sheet around and asking you to sign up, committing to pray for Laura West for thirty minutes sometime in the next twenty-four hours.”
There was a rustling as people reached for pens and pen cils, and Jake started the sheet in the first pew.
As the sheet quickly filled with the names of volunteers, Jake returned to the pulpit. There were tears in his eyes and his voice was uncharacteristically shaky.
“At least now we can say we've done everything we know to do.”
Later, when Olivia Riley began praying at noon, it was the start of one full day of continuous prayer for Laura. They prayed through the day and into the night. Even as the peo ple prayed, Laura's mother called Jake from the hospital the next morning.
“Jake, get down here right away. Please, hurry.”
Laura's father stayed with the boys, and Jake ran for his car, racing toward the Tulsa hospital. He'd recognized the tone of his mother-in-law's voice. Laura was dying, despite everything. As he drove, he cried as he had never cried be fore. He begged and pleaded that God do whatever was nec essary to let Laura live. It was the single lowest moment of his life.
Meanwhile, back in Bartlesville, Cindy Cummins was praying the 9:00 A.M. shift—tearfully asking God to work a miracle. In Australia, the elders of a small church gathered at the request of a friend of theirs from Tulsa to pray for Laura. In Arizona the people of a small rural church received word about Laura and activated their prayer chain. And across the world, pilots were gearing up for a night of flying, praying silently as they worked.
Jake sped on, unaware of the prayers being said for his wife even at that moment. Then, a few miles from the hos pital, the cloud of doom that had engulfed Jake since the start of Laura's nightmare suddenly disappeared. Instead, Jake was surrounded with an unearthly feeling of peace. Al though he could not explain why, at that moment he felt certain that Laura was going to survive.
When he arrived at the hospital, he was met by Laura's mother, the hospital chaplain, and a group of Laura's doctors.They ushered him into a conference room and explained the situation.
“Things have gone from bad to worse,” one of the doc tors said. “We'll need to do exploratory surgery to see why she's still bleeding. We may need to remove her kidney, her spleen, and her bladder. Perhaps a part of her lung.”
Jake pictured the quality of Laura's life if those organs were removed. Calmly he shook his head and told the doc tors they did not have permission to do that type of surgery.
“She's dying, Jake,” one of them said. “We're at the end of our limit and only emergency surgery will
show us what's causing the fever and infections and blood loss throughout her body.” He was silent a moment, studying the faces of the others in the room. “I guarantee you if we don't do this surgery, she'll be dead in a day or two.”
Finally, Jake agreed on the condition that the doctors did not remove any organ that showed even the slightest signs of vitality. Several doctors hurried to prepare for Laura's seventh operation in three weeks. Jake was left alone with his mother-in-law and the hollow sound of their mingled sniffling.
“She's going to be all right,” Jake assured her. “The prayers are working. God is healing her.”
Laura's mother studied Jake. “I sure hope so; she can't stand much more of this.”
Hours later doctors returned and met Jake and Laura's mother in the waiting room with Pastor Ryan.
“It's absolutely incredible,” one of the doctors said. “We opened her up and everything seems to be healing. There was only minimal infection and no sign of excessive bleeding.”
Jake grinned broadly. “What'd I tell you?” he said, ac cepting a hug from his mother-in-law.
“It's still touch and go, Jake,” the doctor warned.
Jake smiled, certain that the doctor thought he was losing his grip. “That's all right, Doc, because from here on out God's the one who's going to do the healing. The world is praying for her, and I know God hears us.”
Indeed, at the small church in Bartlesville, the people responsible for praying for Laura had not heard anything about her condition. So instead of stopping, they continued the round-the-clock prayer vigil for thirty-six hours.
As they finished, just after midnight the second day, Laura's fever broke for the first time in days. Four days later she was conscious enough to recognize Jake and the chil dren.
“Jake?” she asked, her eyelids heavy and her words slurred. He was at her side in a flash.
“Honey, thank God you're awake. We've been so wor ried about you. Everyone's praying.”
“The baby …” Her voice trailed off in fear. “Is … is he dead?”
“No, honey, he's just fine. He's a little guy, but he's in an incubator and he's coming along great.”
“Oh, Jake, I thought he was dead!” She began to cry silently, and Jake rubbed her feet. They had started to curl from the atrophy taking place in her muscles, and Jake was determined to help her regain her strength.
A week later they wheeled Laura into the neonatal in tensive care unit to see Casey Allen West for the first time. There was not a dry eye in the room as the nurses who had been caring for Casey for more than a month watched while Laura first peered at her son.
Laura smiled at the baby with all the love a mother could muster.
“I love you, little Casey,” she said.
“The two of you are living answers to prayer,” Jake piped in. “Wait till he's old enough to understand what a miracle he is.”
There were more tears then, until finally one of the nurses broke in.
“Listen, Mrs. West, you better work on getting yourself strong again; otherwise that little guy's going to beat you home.”
Everyone laughed, and Jake nodded, taking the cue and wheeling Laura back to her room.
On September 2, two months after Casey's birth, Laura West came home from the hospital. Along her cul-de-sac every neighbor had hung welcome-home banners and balloons.
“They knew you weren't supposed to have visitors,” Jake explained, enjoying the look of surprise on his wife's face. “But they wanted you to know that in addition to everyone else who's been praying, they have been, too.”
Laura was speechless, overwhelmed by the outpouring of prayer and love she had received since Casey's birth. The best was yet to come: Exactly one week later, Casey came home.
For the next six months Laura's mother served as the in fant's primary caretaker while Laura continued to recover. In all, she had received more than two hundred units of blood, lost her reproductive organs and most of her stomach, and suffered through seven operations in a three-week period.
The incident changed Jake's life.
“I don't care if I'm pumping gas or flying F-14s,” he said. “The only thing that really matters in life is my faith and my family.”
Doctors at the hospital in Tulsa told Jake and Laura that they will always talk about her miraculous recovery.
“She had that prayer chain list hanging on her bed,” one of them said later. “People were praying for that young mother around the clock. Then she does the impossible and pulls out of a definitely fatal situation. I have no medical ex planation for why Laura West is alive today.”
But Laura does.
To this day she believes God answered her prayer as well as those of thousands of others. “God did whatever it took to get Jake's attention,” Laura says. “He's a different man today as a result.”
Heavenly Reminder
Barbara Evans had eyed the house in the Santa Monica mountains for ten years. It was a Victorian with a stunning view of the Pacific Ocean and it left Barbara breathless every time she looked at it.
“That's my dream house,” she would tell her husband, Ted. “If it's ever for sale, I'd love to own it.”
At the time it seemed like only a dream. But as the years passed and Te d did increasingly better with his busi ness, the idea of affording such a house became a reality.
“You've stood by me all these years,” Ted told her one anniversary. “I'd give you the moon if I could.”
Barbara laughed. “I'd settle for the house on the hill. You know the one. My dream house.”
Ten years went by and the Evans remained childless by choice. They spent considerable time traveling and participating in Mexican missions work. Though Barbara still talked about the house on the hill, she had given up on the idea that it would ever be for sale.
Then, one month when Barbara was visiting her sister in Vermont, the dream house went on the market. Ted worked frantically with a realtor and two weeks later when Barbara returned, Ted met her at the airport. When she got off the plane he handed her a key. “I have a surprise for you,” he told her. “Because I never want you to doubt how much I love you.”
Six weeks later they were settled in and Barbara hugged Ted close. “It's everything I dreamed it would be,” she whispered to him. “But it wouldn't be anything with out you.”
Five more years passed and one hot August Sunday a fire storm raged through the Santa Monica mountains. Fire had blown through the hills before, but always the Evans' house had been far from danger.
This day had started out as a busy one for Ted Evans. Barbara had set off for a visit at her sister's house in the San Fernando Valley, leaving Ted home by himself for what fig ured to be a lonely but peaceful week of solitude.
As the morning wore on, Ted left home for church, where he taught a Bible study. At ten that morning he re turned home, and as he pulled in the drive he gazed with pride, as he so often did, at his home on the hillside.
Barbara's dream house.
It had been the perfect present for his wife, and Ted de voted himself to keeping it up and making it a special place for them to call home. The Evans planned to stay there forever.
But in the distance Ted could see smoke. The hills are on fire, he thought. And he prayed that whatever else hap pened, God would keep their home from danger. Then Ted went inside and began making plans for the afternoon.
About two hours later, he smelled smoke and looked out his window. The fire had gained ground and seemed to be heading in his direction. Ted went outside to watch the fire's progress and was joined by his neighbor, Roy.
That afternoon the wind began to blow from the south, pushing the blaze farther away. Although he and Roy were concerned because of the dry brush that surrounded their homes, they felt certain that firefighters would contain the blaze before it got out of control.
“I'm going to load a few things into the car,” Ted told Roy. He headed back into his house. “You never know about these firestorm
s.”
“Okay,” Roy waved. “I think I'll get up on my roof and wet it down with the hose.”
Ted gathered old pictures and other irreplaceable items and packed them into his Omni. I can't take the house with me, God, he prayed silently. Please spare it. Please.
Before going back outside, he called Barbara. “Honey, the fire's close. Pray. Please.”
Thirty miles away, Barbara hung up the phone and went outside. Sure enough, there was a haze of smoke in the di rection of her hillside dream home. Without hesitating,she bowed her head and begged God to protect their home.
“Please, God,” she whispered. “It's my love letter from Ted. Keep it safe.” Then she had a sudden thought, an image of a circle of protection. She drew a deep breath and prayed once more. “Lord, place a hedge of protection around Ted and our home. Circle it with your angels. I beg you.”
Back at the house, Ted found his hose and began spraying water on his deck. Occasionally he would aim the hose to ward the roof, but since he had no ladder that would reach it, he could not climb on top and saturate it as he would've liked to. Several times during the next ten minutes, church friends called to say they were praying for Ted. The knowledge that he wasn't the only one praying for protection reassured him as he returned outside after the third phone call.
But at just that moment, the wind changed directions and sent the fire directly toward Ted's house. Almost im mediately, Roy came racing back to Ted's house. Together the men stood, trancelike, as they stared in horror at the inferno approaching them. Only minutes earlier the fire had seemed small and controllable. Now it was a towering wall of flames some thirty feet high, consuming everything in its path and gaining strength.
“We're in big trouble,” Roy muttered, gripped with fear.
Each second the firestorm moved closer, drawing oxygen into its infernal flames and spawning whirlwinds of fire that shot fifty feet into the thick smoke above. The men watched, holding their hoses lamely as the ferocious blaze leapt over a gorge and then began moving up the hillside where their homes stood directly in its path.
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