PRAYERS & TEARS

Recently my husband and I watched an excellent movie that I stumbled upon while browsing our Prime account. I clicked on “Nicky’s Story” after reading the synopsis and in its beginning I confess I almost turned it off as I thought it was too slow moving and possibly a “sleeper”, the kind of plot that didn’t immediately catch my attention. I was wrong.

This documentary portrays the heroic and passionate events from the life of Nicholas Winton who was responsible for saving 669 Jewish children in the years of Hitler’s reign during World War II. He was able to fill eight different trains to deliver these children safely from Prague to the United Kingdom where he arranged for foster families to care for them.

At the movie’s end, photos of the actual survivors are featured, showing their name, age and the profession each had pursued in life. I was amazed at the number of professionals such as surgeons, scientists, technicians, teachers, etc. All lived to be quite aged and perhaps one of the greatest facts displayed on the screen is that from those 669 children, 5,700 descendants were produced.

In my own family–that of my father’s side–we have our own numbers to boast. My dad was one of 11 children; a baby boy ahead of my dad was born prematurely and survived for 8 days, so my grandmother actually bore 12 children. From my dad and his siblings, I counted 45 cousins. Several of those are deceased now. I’d love to know how many children each of my cousins had but at this point in my life, I honestly have no idea. The addition of  second, third and cousins beyond each generational label boggles my mind. Yet, in that uncertainty lies a fact I am confident about–I believe the prayers for my family that were uttered by my Grandma Jewell–those for the salvation of her children–also included her grandchildren as each one came along, trickling down through the next generation and into the present day.

The Bible says that our prayers are stored in heaven. In Revelation 5: 8 it states “…and the 24 elders fell down before the Lamb. Each one had a harp and they were holding golden bowls of incense, which are the prayers of God’s people”.

My grandmother’s prayer life was most often in the early hours of the morning. I’ve been told she was awake most nights beginning at 2 am to be in prayer. This was after a long day caring for children, preparing meals, helping with farm chores–all without many modern appliances. It was her habit to pray for her children beginning with the eldest to the youngest. As the boys went off to war, her prayers intensified. As each married, there was a new family loved one tucked inside her heart. And with each new “precious life” added into her growing family, her prayer list grew, filling a golden bowl in heaven.

As beautiful to know that our prayers are forever kept by God, there is also great comfort that He also stores our tears. In Psalm 56: 8 it says “You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book”.

My grandmother surely shed her fair share of tears. There was the tragic death of an eldest grandson which happened while in her and grandpa’s care. His dad, my Uncle Bud, had remarried and while on his honeymoon his three children from a first marriage were with my grandparents. Buddy, age 4, ran into the road and was struck by a car. Because of that incident, over the years that we visited my grandparents, we were strictly told not to play by the road.

In 1953, the very day that I was born in November, my Uncle Rusty lost his oldest daughter to polio. She was merely 8 years old. I have no doubt that grandma joined her son and my aunt crying for Sheryl’s precious life, taken by a sickness that later became curable with a vaccine, only too late for her.

Knowing that God stores prayers and tears in heaven gives me a great sense of joy and hope. Nothing you or I talk to Him about or  as we sit quietly with tears streaming down our cheeks goes unnoticed by Him. I can think of no greater comfort than those two promises which are recorded for us in scripture. I can only imagine the number of golden bowls and vials God is using to capture every word, every tear from every person from generations past to now.

When I close my eyes, I can see my grandmother in her rocking chair, Bible open on her lap which is covered by her apron, soft hands folded across open pages of a favorite scripture. And while I envision worn pages from years of use, I can also see stains where tears of joy or heartache marked each heartfelt prayer to her Heavenly Father.  And I  see a golden bowl paired on a table with a vessel of tears. Both are labeled “Sadie Florence Morris Jewell”.