The baby is already bundled up and in the car in his little infant seat. Getting him settled is the first of my trips to the car. My sixteen month old son is toddling around the house in his normal fashion. I grab him, put on his jacket, pick up the diaper bag, and begin to dig around in my purse for the keys. The keys are on a large silver bracelet type ring, thus relatively easy to find. No keys in the purse. I put the toddler down and search again. No keys. I sit down on the floor and carefully sift through the purse again. No keys. I move on to the diaper bag, checking every pocket. No keys. I am getting really worried.
What if my toddler had taken the keys out of my purse?
Everybody knows how children love keys. I have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I look my toddler in the eye, and ask, "Keys?"
He nods his head. I ask him, "Did you take Mommy's keys?"
He nods his head again.
At this point I don't know whether we are playing a nodding game or whether my son is really responding to my questions. I can feel the sense of panic beginning to rise. If he has taken them, I am up a creek without a paddle. I run over to the toy box with him in tow and quickly began to search, all the while saying, "Keys?" and hoping against hope that he will respond. No keys. I search the den quickly without success, and then I realize that I need to get the baby back out of the car. Done.
Doctor's appointments at my pediatrician's office are not that easy to come by, especially morning appointments, but that is the least of my worries. The baby is obviously feverish and my sixteen month old cannot tell me where he has put the keys. I am running all over the downstairs looking everywhere that I can think a toddler might put the keys...to no avail.
I start crying. I don't know what I am going to do. I look out the door to see if either of my neighbors who might let me borrow their cars are home. They are not. I am praying as I go through the house again.
I take a big gulp as the impression moves into my thoughts.
Go and pray.
"I am praying," I say to God in my head.
The impression is stronger.
Go and pray.
The Husband and I sleep in a heavy antique bed that belonged to my Momma's family. It has deep side rails and wide slats. When I am struggling with something, I will often go and kneel to pray on my side of the bed. I feel the impression ever so strongly as I move toward the bedroom, so I grab the baby and my toddler and off we go. I get the baby settled and then kneel down beside the bed. My toddler follows suit. My frustration with him starts to melt as I watch him bow his little head. I pray aloud and ask the Lord to heal my baby, to help me find my keys, and to bring some desperately needed peace to my heart and our home. I don't stay there long. Toddlers don't let you stay immobile long, even if it is for prayer. I remember that my son patted my hand as I finished praying out loud.
I look down as I open my eyes and began to pull myself up. As I do, I catch a glimpse of something glinting in the light. I reach toward it. As my hand goes down between the bed rail and the side of the bed directly in front of me, there, caught on a slat, are the car keys on the big silver ring.
I am dumbfounded and in awe. God has directed me to the ONLY place where I would find the keys.
I know without a doubt that I would NEVER have looked there on my own, and I would NEVER have found them had it not been for the fact that I felt impelled by the Holy Spirit to go kneel in that exact spot and pray. If the keys had fallen through, they would have fallen onto a flat box under the bed where I would NEVER have seen them. But they didn't. They were waiting there. For me to find them. When and only when I knelt to pray.
Kneeling to pray beside that bed is not something I do every day. I am usually praying on the run.
But that day, the impression was so strong.
Go and pray.
All I know is that prayer is not about me. It is all about Him.
