Dearest Christopher,
As I’ve mentioned to you before, prayer was something I worried about in the early years, wondering if you’d ever understand it. And now I completely rejoice in what your prayers have become—an example to all of us.
Today, I’d like to tell you about a story that you may remember…
Dad and I glanced at each other as the prayers continued from the seat behind us. I could just hear them above the rattles and groans of the RV as we lurched and lunged our way up the winding roads of Yellowstone National Park. Snow was melting from a late Father’s Day blizzard the night before.
Christopher, you rocked back and forth, alternating between prayers and talking to yourself.
“Let us see Old Faithful, in Jesus’ name.”
“I’m not going to be upset. I’m not going to be upset.”
“I’m not going to be discouraged, but I am going to see Old Faithful.”
Then you added, “Jesus answers prayers. He does. I know He does!”
And on and on the litany of supplications poured forth.
This detour to Yellowstone had not originally been in our travel plans as we headed northwest to visit family, but Dad had made the mistake—or perhaps not—of bringing an atlas along on the journey, which you began to pore over.
“Dad!” you exclaimed with full enthusiasm, shoving your dark bangs back from your eyes. “Did you realize that Yellowstone is on the way to Montana, where we’re going?”
Really, though, it had all begun quite a bit before that, when you became obsessed with volcanoes and geysers.
You created geysers by dropping candy into soda bottles and made volcanos with baking soda and vinegar. You studied every book we had on volcanoes and geysers. You knew all the details of Pompeii and Mount St. Helens and seemingly every other volcano that existed.
And Old Faithful was a special friend of yours in your head. You knew its patterns. You knew where it was. You knew the pressure and the volume of water coming out.
“We’ve got to go by Yellowstone and see Old Faithful,” you pleaded.
So we decided to change our route.
“Now, Christopher,” Dad told you, “there are many, many geysers in Yellowstone, and we may not get to see Old Faithful, but we’ll definitely see a geyser.”
As a matter of fact, Dad and I had been there a few years before and had been rather unimpressed. After waiting in a mob of people for an hour, Old Faithful had finally gone off, and we found many of the other geysers to be just as impressive, if not more so.
We tried to prepare you for that, but it was Old Faithful that you wanted to see, and so the prayers went on and on.
“What do we do?” I asked Dad.
“See if you can call the visitor center and find out what the Old Faithful schedule is today.”
The problem was that we still needed to set up camp, tents and everything, before dark, as well as eat supper, and Uncle Kevin and Aunt Abby were meeting us for that supper. We didn’t feel like we could afford to wait a long time at Old Faithful. And we were leaving the next morning. We had people to meet.
When I checked the schedule, it looked as though by the time we arrived, Old Faithful would have erupted about forty minutes earlier and wouldn’t be due to erupt again for another half hour.
“We won’t have half an hour,” Dad said. “But we’ll go by there, and if it goes off in ten or fifteen minutes, we’ll see it. Otherwise, you’re going to have to settle yourself and be thankful to see the other geysers.”
We pulled up to Old Faithful, and sure enough, there were crowds of people sitting around waiting. We found our place, and you prayed. Loudly!
“In Jesus’ name, let this geyser go off.”
I looked at the clock. It wasn’t due for another thirty minutes, but we sat there anyway.
We had only been sitting there for about three minutes when suddenly it began to steam, then to bubble. And suddenly, into the gray sky, a geyser of white water shot upward. It grew larger and fuller by the second, reaching approximately forty feet.
And Christopher, you began to leap and dance, to bow and bend and shriek right there in front of all those people.
“I prayed! I prayed! I prayed!” you shouted, as you leapt and twirled.
“And there it is! Old Faithful!”
Dad and I looked at each other, laughing and crying, and the whole crowd began to cheer and applaud. But they weren’t looking at Old Faithful. They were looking at you, dancing there beneath the steam, overwhelmed with joy because Old Faithful had sprung forth from the rocks. And you had prayed.
Keep praying, and I know that Old Faithful will always spring forth, instant in season and out of season.
With all my love,
Mom