Prayer In Tragedy

Hi, I’m Joni with a touching memory from another April 19^th.

Actually, it’s more traumatic than touching. But it’s indelibly printed on my heart when, decades ago today, I received an early morning call from a pastor-friend whose church was in Oklahoma City. His voice was tense, and he asked if I was watching the news. I quickly flicked on CNN and saw that a massive homemade bomb had been detonated right outside of the downtown federal office building – the explosion shook the area for miles around and – I mean, I saw it on the screen – totally gutted the front side of the structure. “How many died?” I asked my pastor-friend. “Well, at this point nobody knows,” he said, “but would you be willing, Joni, to come and help with the pastoral counseling team?” I thought of the hundreds of families who were probably in shock, nervous, frightened, not knowing if their loved ones had survived the blast. I looked at Ken and he nodded. “Yes,” I told my friend. “We’re on our way to Oklahoma City.” And when I got off the plane, I was cleared and credentialed by the American Red Cross, and we proceeded to a downtown church where the families had already gathered. They were sequestering. And when I wheeled into the large room, there were young people, older people, grandparents, mothers, siblings, husbands, friends, all of them anxiously awaiting news. And I’ll never forget the look on their faces. It was the first time that terrorism touched us as Americans, and, indeed, the expressions showed the people were terrorized. Frightened. Vulnerable. But hopeful.

I cannot remember the names of the people that I talked to in that room. And I’m kind of glad. As part of the counseling team, I was sworn to protect their privacy. But what I do remember is that we prayed. I don’t know how many of those gathered were able to name Christ as their Savior, but wow, prayer flowed so easily. Everyone welcomed any and every prayer on behalf of their loved one, perhaps still trapped in that building. I recall especially one mother awaiting news of her child. There was a day-care center in that office building, and at that point, there were still questions about child survivors. But as it turned out, all 19 children in that day-care center had lost their lives. They were numbered among the 168 people who did not survive.

It was almost too much to take in. And later the next day I leaned against the chain-link fence down by the main boulevard, praying for and watching the many firemen who were working the scene. When they walked past the fence, we were able to thank them and pray out loud for them. Other people came to the fence placing notes, lighting candles, weaving flowers into the chain links. That same chain-link fence protecting the bombing site eventually became part of the permanent memorial to commemorate all those who lost their lives.

You know, I share all this today because, as I said, the scene is indelibly impressed on my heart. Of course, yes, the terrible tragedy and unthinkable loss of life. But I will never, ever forget those families who, in the midst of unthinkable horror, turned to prayer. They turned to God. And isn’t that what we all do in any tragedy. Long after I returned home, one of the family members I met made me a small quilt. To this day it rests on the end of my bed. After so many years, it’s old and it’s threadbare. But that little quilt remains a treasure, reminding me to turn to God in prayer in the smaller tragedies of my own life. Hey, come see a photo of that quilt at joniradio.org today, and I trust that, as you look at it, it will remind you to turn to God in every tragedy in your own life. 

© Joni and Friends