A Prayer in the Parish

This is a story I wrote about an experience I had several years ago.


A Prayer in the Parish

“Wow, those flags look awesome,” said our six year old son, Jacob, as we pulled into the parking lot of the Catholic church near our home. Several hundred U.S. flags flapped in the wind on the beautifully groomed grounds. My husband and our four children had been invited to participate in a patriotic community program celebrating the Constitution of the United States.

The event was a wonderful mixture of speakers, music, and presentations all with the intent of promoting the spirit of patriotism in our city. At the end of the evening, as the several hundred people in attendance were putting chairs away and visiting, a woman tapped me on the shoulder.
“May I speak with you for a moment,” came the timid request. I stepped away from the noisy crowd so we could speak.

“That was a wonderful program,” she went on shakily, obviously overcome with emotion. I said I too had enjoyed the program. I thought maybe she had pulled me aside because I had directed a youth choir for one of the musical numbers. But I was wrong.

“I was driving by and saw those beautiful flags and stopped to see what was going on,” she said as she choked back the tears. “I only heard the closing prayer but I felt God’s spirit the minute I stepped inside the room.”

As she continued to speak I was confused as to why she wanted to talk to me. She tearfully explained that her name was Dorothy and she was 43 years old. For the majority of her adult life she had been addicted to drugs and had been a prisoner to her addictions. During the last 9 months she had been clean of drugs but lately was feeling overwhelmed by temptation to slip back into her former life.

“God directed me to this building and he directed me to you. Will you please pray for me?” she pleaded.

I immediately reached my arms out and pulled her close to me and said, “I would love to.” I searched the large boisterous gymnasium for a quiet spot and saw the door of an office slightly ajar. We moved quickly towards the open room, stepped in and shut the door.

She asked me if I was a member of this parish and I said that I was a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and people of many faiths were in attendance. She looked a little surprised but said, “I don’t know much about your beliefs but I know this is where I’m supposed to be right now.”

We joined hands and knelt carefully on the hard tile floor. I took at deep breath offering my own silent prayer asking for help to say something of value and comfort to this dear troubled woman
I felt a rush of the spirit roll over me like a wave as I began to speak. As I prayed her tears increased until heaving sobs wracked her whole body. She also nodded and quietly repeated the word, “Yes” after nearly every phrase spoken. Tears slipped down my own cheeks as I felt her burden lift.

Afterward, we embraced and exchanged words of love and appreciation for the love of God in our lives. “I always knew God loved me. Thanks for reminding me that he won’t ever stop,” Dorothy said as she disappeared into the crowd.

Never in my life had a been so humbled by such a simple request.