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Just 1,095 Days

Just 1,095 Days

On my knees.

That’s how I ended the day for about a month. Face down. On my knees. In the dark of my boy’s bedroom.

I needed a magic formula to heal my son’s hurting heart. Money for counseling was scarce but I knew his little boy heart ached more than his seven-year-old soul knew how to process.

“Mommy, it’s not fair,” Sam declared out of the blue at the beginning of second grade. “I only got to play with my daddy for 1,095 days.”

His math skills evident, I absorbed his new perspective with unease.

He was right. Sam only got to play with his daddy until a brain tumor took his life three weeks after the toddler’s third birthday.

While I’d spent years pointing out the ways God fathered our family with the help of church members, classmate’s parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, the truth was, my boy had grown old enough to realize he’d been robbed of something of great value: a relationship with his earthly dad.

It hurt. It hurt him—and me.

No longer able to Pollyanna my way out of the pain, I embraced it with him that year as much as I could. But there came a point when I knew he needed help in a way only a touch of the divine could heal.

So after my boys went to bed and I thought they were asleep, I snuck in their room, laid face down for about ten minutes, and prayed, “Come, Jesus. We need more of you.”

It was a simple prayer. A humbling of self. But I held to this verse, “Sing to God, sing praise to his name, extol him who rides on the clouds—his name is the Lord—and rejoice before him. A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling.” (Psalm 68:4-5 NIV)

Think about it. It almost reads like a science fiction tale. Can you imagine God, the all-powerful creator of our souls, riding on the clouds? Can you see Him? The one who “brings out the starry hosts one by one and calls them each by name?” (Isaiah 40: 26 NIV)

Earthly kings ride on horseback through the country side. The heavenly King, who breathes perfect love into my soul, rides on the clouds and lives in a holy dwelling where he defends the fatherless and the widows.

The God of heaven didn’t need me to elaborate about our problems. He knew them. So when life overwhelmed me most and my children’s heartache was more than I could bear, I spent time, facedown, asking Him to whisper His love and truth and healing into the depths of the boys I loved.

And He did. In time. At some point, a conversation between me and my boys would announce that healing was taking place.

So I’d slack off. I wouldn’t kneel as much or pray as hard. And honestly, I still wonder why it’s so hard to stop and simply kneel, acknowledging I am His and He is mine.

Perhaps it takes a lot of faith to believe that time on our knees, quieted before heaven, actually makes a difference.

But I know it does. And it’s crucial for all of us as parents.

He is here. He is near. And He longs to heal.

Perhaps it’s time for me to kneel. Perhaps it’s time for all of us to kneel and pray for the hearts of our children.

By: Susan Schreer Davis lives with her husband, their cat named, Eggs, and the challenging effects of mitochondrial disease. She likes wispy curtains that hang to the floor and life with toilets scrubbed clean. Learn more about Susan at

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