A Child’s Prayer

“Dear God, we thank you for this food, we thank you for our family, and thank you for not making Hazel die from cancer. We love you. Amen.” – Gideon Guthrie Miller

A newly established rule in our household is that each of our four children are given an evening in which they not only choose the menu for the evening, but they also help prepare and bless the food prior to our meal. Those two and half sentences were the prayer my middle son prayed tonight over dinner, a tiny soul speaking with heartfelt innocence and the untold wisdom of the meek. Gideon’s prayer is telling of this season of our life – it was uncoached, yet not unprovoked. Today was the funeral of yet another “tiny big fighter” – a small warrior stricken by pediatric cancer and stolen too soon from this world. Gideon and the rest of my tiny hoard had been to the funeral today, they had watched as a family mourned the loss of one of their own and said goodbye to a life full of potential and expectation. My children saw their mother hug another woman in sorrow, crying in pain of her own, and feeling the same devastating loss in her heart as the two wept in unison over the foregone memories that will never come. These women held on to one another, intertwined in an agony unknown by many, yet upheld by the untold strength of a few.

Cancer is ugly, it is unforgiving, and it is brutal. It tears people and lives apart, breaks spirits and casts shadows of doubt on all aspects of our faith. We are surrounded by the effects of cancer every day, often forgetting how insidious it can be until it is thrust in our path. Unbeknownst to Gideon, but completely present in his mother and I’s minds was the fact that several hundred miles away, another mother also wept for life lost. Gideon’s grandmother, my mom, had only hours before spent the final moments of her sister’s life clutching her hand and praying that God let her pass into his presence gently. Riddled with a cancer that had come on quickly and shut down many of her systems simultaneously, my aunt had bravely marched into an unknown battle with the odds stacked strongly against her. She remained a mother to the end, a matriarch determined to go out on her terms leaving behind children, a husband, her brothers and sister, and worst of all, her grandbabies. In her passing though, Aunt Lin knew what she was doing, rekindling long forlorn relationships and bringing family to the forefront of everyone’s minds once again.

I have witnessed some amazing things this past year as I have watched Hazel battle Leukemia, but I have also become innately aware of the harsh devastation that cancer leaves in its wake. We have joined the ranks of many whose lives will never be the same after experiencing the “emperor of all maladies” – and still we trudge on, arms locked, heads bowed, leaning in together to face the unknown.

Modest, unpretentious prayers are often the most beautiful and the most meaningful – they bear out our true selves, boiling down our emotion, worries, fears, and desires into a simple sentence or two that speak volumes about our character. It is humbling to hear the words of young ones speaking to our almighty Creator. Children pray simple prayers, not yet conscious of or able to convolute their meanings with complicated phrases or elaborate soliloquy. They commune with God in a relationship that is open, honest, and carefree.

Gideon’s prayer was not meant to cause a lump in my throat or cast a solemn tone over the remainder of our meal. It wasn’t meant to make me think of the loss of others or to point out how blessed our journey was compared to other possible outcomes. Quite simply, Gideon’s prayer wasn’t for me, it was for him and God. Gideon spoke truth that exuded the meaning of the Gospel in 26 words. His prayer displayed a faith of purity, integrity, and a depth of reality found only in a risen savior. Gideon’s simple words indicate that he understands some very complex truths: 1) Life is a precious gift and something to be celebrated no matter how long or how short, 2) Our God is bigger than cancer and has the power to move mountains, and 3) God’s plan is eternal. When my head hits the pillow tonight and every night hereafter, I hope I can keep my prayer as simple as: “Dear God, Thank you for this life and the life ever after. I love you. Amen.”

“There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear, because fear involves torment…We love Him because He first loved us.” – 1 John 4:18-19