Talisa Jackson
The Power of a Simple Prayer
Jim* was a giant of a man, towering over me as he sat in the crowded diabetic clinic of the local county hospital. It was another busy day for me as a medical student. I grabbed his chart from the ever-growing pile, and glanced through Jim’s medical record. I noticed his history of very poorly controlled diabetes and, as I walked into his room, I wondered if this visit would even make a difference.
Jim had been coming to the clinic for years, with no change in his diabetes; in fact, things were rapidly worsening. What could I possibly say that hadn’t already been said? In my hurried state I was tempted to rush through the usual questions: Did he take his blood sugar levels at home? Did he write them down? What was his diet like? Was he exercising, etc., etc.?
As I went down my mental checklist of required questions, I sensed that Jim was struggling with something much deeper, and so I paused, then began asking him different questions. How are you coping with your diagnosis? Do you have support at home? Do you ever find yourself feeling down and depressed?
To my utter surprise, the big, tough guy melted down and began to sob uncontrollably. In between the sobs he said that no one cared about him and how he felt so horribly alone. Countless times he had even contemplated ending his own life. As I listened to him pour out his pain and suffering, my heart ached for Jim. On the outside he appeared so tough, but on the inside he was racked with distress. In that moment I was overwhelmed with compassion and I set aside his chart and my notes. I gently put my hand on Jim’s shoulder and asked if I could pray with him. He nodded his head, and so I proceeded with a simple prayer, asking for peace and comfort. At the end of the prayer I opened my eyes to see that the tears had stopped, a smile was on his face, and he had a new sense of peace. As I stepped out of the room, I too had a smile on my face, thankful that God had used me to make a difference in Jim’s life, no matter how small. I never learned what happened to Jim after that visit, but I was grateful to be part of a tiny moment of joy in his life, and perhaps even plant a seed whose growth will only be known in Heaven.
I wholeheartedly agree with Ellen White that a Christian physician should be a praying physician. All the drugs in the world cannot cure a hurting soul, but a simple prayer can
change a life. She advises: “The physician should know how to pray… Prayer will give the sick an abiding confidence; and many times if their cases are borne to the Great Physician in humble trust, it will do more for them than all the drugs that can be administered.” – Testimonies for the Church, Vol. 5, p. 443
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A young man wearing blue scrubs sits with his head on his folded hands[/caption]
Throughout medical school I have made it a priority to spend a few extra moments in prayer with my patients. I was first inspired to embark on this amazing journey of praying with my patients as a freshman medical student. I attended a seminar at the AMEN conference where I heard physicians share how they prayed with their patients and the difference they were able to make in their patients’ lives. As I listened, I longed to be able to have the same impact on my patients someday. When my clinical years rolled around, I made a conscious effort to pray with my patients whenever I had the chance. Little did I realize the impact this would have, not only on my patients’ lives, but also in my own life as well.
For instance, it was late in the afternoon; I was in the emergency room admitting a pleasant man who had the unfortunate diagnosis of cancer that had continued to spread despite the best treatment medicine could offer. I was admitting him that day because he just couldn’t control his excruciating pain at home. I was touched by the man’s peace and joy despite his pain and, as I left the room after finishing our visit, he said, “God bless you for what you are doing.” I smiled as I walked away, grateful for such a pleasant interaction to end my day.
The next morning I was shocked to find my patient unresponsive, and struggling to breathe. I quickly called for help and, despite our best efforts, he only worsened. The following day when I entered his room he was lying in bed, barely able to move, his breaths labored and unable to speak. I knew the end was near. As I approached his bed he reached out his arms towards me with a look of desperation in his eyes, and his mouth formed the words “Help me.” The situation overwhelmed me and I ran out of the room, struggling to fight back the tears. I wished with all my heart that I had taken the time to pray with him while he was still able to communicate and comprehend what was going on around him. I wiped away the tears and pulled myself together then returned to his room. I took his hand in mine, and prayed a simple prayer, asking for peace and comfort in his time need. I left that day with a heavy heart, and I never saw him again; he died the next day. Even now I can still see him reaching out his arms in desperation, pleading for help, help I couldn’t give, so I did the only thing I knew of to help him – pray. This experience reminded me that life is so fragile, and there is never any assurance of tomorrow.
From that day forward, I have tried to take advantage of every opportunity I get to pray with my patients.
Little did I realize the impact this would have, not only on my patients’ lives, but also in my own life as well.
Throughout medical school I have made it a habit that every Sabbath I am scheduled to be at the hospital, I always pray that God will give me someone special to talk to; that He will use me in a special way to touch a life. When we pray, God hears our prayers and answers in beautiful ways!
It was with a grateful heart that I walked away, knowing that God had answered not one, but two prayers that morning, hers and mine.
One Sabbath I was running around the hospital early in the morning, making it through the long list of things that I had to do before rounds that morning. As I was heading down one of the hallways, I spotted a woman I had seen several times already that week, but this time something told me to stop and say something to her. In that split second I looked at my watch and said to myself, “Wow, I don’t really have time for this,” but then I remembered the prayer I had prayed that morning, and so I paused for a minute to talk. Tears filled her eyes as I asked her how she was doing.
“My son is so sick and I just don’t know what is going to happen,” she said. “I’ve been here all week and barely slept, I’m exhausted and discouraged and just don’t know what to do.”
I asked if I could pray with her, and she eagerly nodded her head and so, once again, I bowed my head and said a simple prayer, asking for hope and courage during this difficult time. Upon opening my eyes, I glanced down at her hand and realized she was carrying a Bible with her. She said that this very morning she had been tearfully crying out to God, asking that He would bring her some kind of encouragement. With tears in her eyes she grasped my hand and said that God had answered her prayer by bringing me to her at that moment. It was with a grateful heart that I walked away, knowing that God had answered not one, but two prayers that morning, hers and mine.
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