Excerpt

The bride stood in a circle of Virginia sunlight, her narrow heels clicking on Holly Oak’s patio stones as she greeted strangers in the receiving line. Her wedding dress was a simple A-line, strapless, with a gauzy skirt of white that breezed about her knees like lacy curtains at an open window. She had pulled her unveiled brunette curls into a loose arrangement dotted with tiny flowers that she’d kept alive on her flight from Phoenix. Her only jewelry was a white topaz pendant at her throat and the band of platinum on her left ring finger. Tall, slender, and tanned from the famed and relentless Arizona sun, hers was a girl-nextdoor look: pretty but not quite beautiful. Adelaide thought it odd that Marielle held no bouquet.

From the parlor window Adelaide watched as her grandson-in-law, resplendent in a black tuxedo next to his bride, bent toward the guests and greeted them by name, saying, “This is Marielle.” An explanation seemed ready to spring from his lips each time he shook the hand of someone who had known Sara, her deceased granddaughter. His first wife. Carson stood inches from Marielle, touching her elbow every so often, perhaps to assure himself that after four years a widower he had indeed patently and finally moved on from grief.

Smatterings of conversations wafted about on the May breeze and into the parlor as received guests strolled toward trays of sweet tea and champagne. Adelaide heard snippets from her place at the window. Hudson and Brette, her great-grandchildren, had moved away from the snaking line of gray suits and pastel dresses within minutes of the first guests’ arrival and were now studying the flower-festooned gift table under the window ledge, touching the bows, fingering the silvery white wrappings. Above the children, an old oak’s youngest branches shimmied to the tunes a string quartet produced from the gazebo beyond the receiving line.

Adelaide raised a teacup to her lips and sipped the last of its contents, allowing the lemony warmth to linger at the back of her throat. She had spent the better part of the morning readying the garden for Carson and Marielle’s wedding reception, plucking spent geranium blossoms, ordering the catering staff about, and straightening the rented linen tablecloths. She needed to join the party now that it had begun. The Blue-Haired Old Ladies would be wondering where she was.

Her friends had been the first to arrive, coming through the garden gate on the south side of the house at five minutes before the hour. She’d watched as Carson introduced them to Marielle, witnessed how they cocked their necks in blue-headed unison to sweetly scrutinize her grandson-in-law’s new wife, and heard their welcoming remarks through the open window.

Deloris gushed about how lovely Marielle’s wedding dress was and what, pray tell, was the name of that divine purple flower she had in her hair?

Pearl invited Marielle to her bridge club next Tuesday afternoon and asked her if she believed in ghosts.

Maxine asked her how Carson and she had met—though Adelaide had told her weeks ago that Carson met Marielle on the Internet—and why on earth Arizona didn’t like daylight-saving time.

Marielle had smiled, sweet and knowing—like the kindergarten teacher who finds the bluntness of five-year-olds endearing—and answered the many questions.

Mojave asters. She didn’t know how to play bridge. She’d never encountered a ghost so she couldn’t really say but most likely not. She and Carson met online. There’s no need to save what one has an abundance of. Carson had cupped her elbow in his hand, and his thumb caressed the inside of her arm while she spoke.

Adelaide swiftly set the cup down on the table by the window, whisking away the remembered tenderness of that same caress on Sara’s arm.

Carson had every right to remarry.

Sara had been dead for four years.

She turned from the bridal tableau outside and inhaled deeply the gardenia-scented air in the parlor. Unbidden thoughts of her granddaughter sitting with her in that very room gently nudged her. Sara at six cutting out paper dolls. Memorizing multiplication tables at age eight. Sewing brass buttons onto gray wool coats at eleven. Sara reciting a poem for English Lit at sixteen, comparing college acceptance letters at eighteen, sharing a chance letter from her estranged mother at nineteen, showing Adelaide her engagement ring at twenty-four. Coming back home to Holly Oak with Carson when Hudson was born. Nursing Brette in that armchair by the fireplace. Leaning against the door frame and telling Adelaide that she was expecting her third child.

Right there Sara had done those things while Adelaide sat at the long table in the center of the room, empty now but usually awash in yards of stiff Confederate gray, glistening gold braid, and tiny piles of brass buttons—the shining elements of officer reenactment uniforms before they see war.

Adelaide ran her fingers along the table’s polished surface, the warm wood as old as the house itself. Carson had come to her just a few months ago while she sat at that table piecing together a sharpshooter’s forest green jacket. He had taken a chair across from her as Adelaide pinned a collar, and he’d said he needed to tell her something.

He’d met someone.

When she’d said nothing, he added, “It’s been four years, Adelaide.”

“I know how long it’s been.” The pins made a tiny plucking sound as their pointed ends pricked the fabric.

“She lives in Phoenix.”

“You’ve never been to Phoenix.”

“Mimi.” He said the name Sara had given her gently, as a father might. A tender reprimand. He waited until she looked up at him. “I don’t think Sara would want me to live the rest of my life alone. I really don’t. And I don’t think she would want Hudson and Brette not to have a mother.”

“Those children have a mother.”

“You know what I mean. They need to be mothered. I’m gone all day at work. I only have the weekends with them. And you won’t always be here. You’re a wonderful great-grandmother, but they need someone to mother them, Mimi.”

She pulled the pin cushion closer to her and swallowed. “I know they do.”

He leaned forward in his chair. “And I…I miss having someone to share my life with. I miss the companionship. I miss being in love. I miss having someone love me.”

Adelaide smoothed the pieces of the collar. “So. You are in love?”

He had taken a moment to answer. “Yes. I think I am.”

Carson hadn’t brought anyone home to the house, and he hadn’t been on any dates. But he had lately spent many nights after the children were in bed in his study—the old drawing room—with the door closed. When she’d pass by, Adelaide would hear the low bass notes of his voice as he spoke softly into his phone. She knew that gentle sound. She had heard it before, years ago when Sara and Carson would sit in the study and talk about their day. His voice, deep and resonant. Hers, soft and melodic.

“Are you going to marry her?”

Carson had laughed. “Don’t you even want to know her name?”

She had not cared at that moment about a name. The specter of being alone in Holly Oak shoved itself forward in her mind. If he remarried, he’d likely move out and take the children with him. “Are you taking the children? Are you leaving Holly Oak?”

“Adelaide—”

“Will you be leaving?”

Several seconds of silence had hung suspended between them. Carson and Sara had moved into Holly Oak ten years earlier to care for Adelaide after heart surgery and had simply stayed. Ownership of Holly Oak had been Sara’s birthright and was now Hudson and Brette’s future inheritance. Carson stayed on after Sara died because, in her grief, Adelaide asked him to, and in his grief, Carson said yes.

“Will you be leaving?” she asked again.

“Would you want me to leave?” He sounded unsure.

“You would stay?”

Carson had sat back in his chair. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea to take Hudson and Brette out of the only home they’ve known. They’ve already had to deal with more than any kid should.”

“So you would marry this woman and bring her here. To this house.”

Carson had hesitated only a moment. “Yes.”

She knew without asking that they were not talking solely about the effects moving would have on a ten-year-old boy and a six-year-old girl. They were talking about the strange biology of their grief. Sara had been taken from them both, and Holly Oak nurtured their common sorrow in the most kind and savage of ways. Happy memories were one way of keeping someone attached to a house and its people. Grief was the other. Surely Carson knew this. An inner nudging prompted her to consider asking him what his new bride would want.

“What is her name?” she asked instead.

And he answered, “Marielle…”

Excerpted from A Sound Among the Trees by Susan Meissner Copyright © 2011 by Susan Meissner. Excerpted by permission of WaterBrook Press, a division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

“She’s dying, Krista.”

I took a long, slow breath. “She died a long time ago, Dane.”

He paused, and I could picture him formulating his next words, something that would move me. Why was my relationship with my mother so important to him? I mean, other than the fact that she was a patient in his care. “There’s still time, Kristabelle.”

I sighed. Dane knew that his old nickname for me always got to me. “For what? For long, deep conversations?” I winced at the harsh slice of sarcasm in my tone.

“You never know,” he said quietly. “An aide found something you should see.”

“What?”

“Come. I’ll keep it here in my office until you arrive. Consider it a Christmas present.”

“It’s December ninth.”

“Okay, consider it an early present.”

It was typical of him to hold out a mysterious hook like that. “I don’t know, Dane. The school term isn’t over yet. It’s a hard time to get someone to cover for me.” It wasn’t the whole truth. I had an assistant professor who could handle things on her own. And I could get back for finals. Maybe. Unless Dane wasn’t overstating the facts.

“Krista. She’s dying. Her doctor tells me she has a few weeks, tops. Tell your department chair. He’ll let you go. This is the end.” I stared out my cottage window to the old pines that covered my yard in shadows. The end. The end had always seemed so far away. Too far away. In some ways I wanted an end to my relationship with my mother, the mother who had never loved me as I longed to be loved. When she started disappearing, with her went so many
of my hopes for what could have been. The road to this place had been long and lonely. Except for Dane. He had always been there, had always waited. I owed it to him to show. “I’ll be there on Saturday.”

“I’ll be here. Come and find me.”

“Okay. I teach a Saturday morning class. I can get out of here after lunch and down there by five or six.”

“I’ll make you dinner.”

“Dane, I—”

“Dinner. At seven.”

I slowly let my mouth close and paused. I was in no mood to argue with him now. “I’ll meet you at Cimarron,” I said.
“Great. It will be good to see you, Kristabelle.” I closed my eyes, imagining him in his office at Cimarron Care Center. Brushing his too-long hair out of his eyes as he looked through his own window.

“It will be good to see you, too, Dane. Good-bye.”

He hung up then without another word, and it left me feeling slightly bereft. I hung on to the telephone receiver as if I could catch one more word, one more breath, one more connection with the man who had stolen my heart at sixteen.

Dane McConnell remained on my mind as I wrapped up things at the college, prepped my assistant, Alissa, to handle my history classes for the following week, and then drove the scenic route down to Taos from Colorado Springs, about a five-hour trip. My old Honda Prelude hugged the roads along the magnificent San Luis Valley. The valley’s shoulders were still covered in late spring snow, her belly carpeted in a rich, verdant green. It was here that in 1862 Maggie O’Neil single-handedly led a wagon train to settle a town in western Colorado, and nearby Cecilia Gaines went so
crazy one winter they named a waterway in her honor—“Woman Hollering Creek.”

I drove too fast but liked the way the speed made my scalp tingle when I rounded a corner and dipped, sending my stomach flying. Dane had never driven too fast. He was methodical in everything he did, quietly moving ever forward. He had done much in his years since grad school, establishing Cimarron and making it a national think tank for those involved in gerontology. After high school we had essentially ceased communication for years before Cimarron came about. Then when Mother finally got to the point in her descent into Alzheimer’s that she needed fulltime institutionalized care, I gave him a call. I hadn’t been able to find a facility that I was satisfied with for more than a year, when a college friend had shown me the magazine article on the opening of Cimarron and its patron saint, Dane McConnell.

“Good looking and nice to old people,” she had moaned. “Why can’t I meet a guy like that?”

“I know him,” I said, staring at the black-and-white photograph.

“Get out.”

“I do. Or did. We used to be…together.”

“What happened?” she asked, her eyes dripping disbelief.

“I’m not sure.”

I still wasn’t sure. Things between us had simply faded over the years. But when I saw him again, it all seemed to come back. Or at least a part of what we had once had. There always seemed to be a submerged wall between us, something we couldn’t quite bridge or blast through. So we had simply gone swimming toward different shores.

Mother’s care had brought us back together over the last five years. With the congestive heart failure that was taking her body, I supposed the link between us would finally be severed. I would retreat to Colorado, and he would remain in our beloved Taos, the place of our youth, of our beginnings, of our hearts. And any lingering dream of living happily ever after with Dane McConnell could be buried forever with my unhappy memories of Mother.

I loosened my hands on the wheel, realizing that I was gripping

it so hard my knuckles were white. I glanced in the rearview mirror, knowing that my reverie was distracting me from paying attention to the road. It was just that Dane was a hard man to get over. His unique ancestry had gifted him with the looks of a Scottish Highlander and the sultry, earthy ways of the Taos Indians. A curious, inspiring mix that left him with both a leader’s stance and a wise man’s knowing eyes. Grounded but visionary. A driving force, yet empathetic at the same time. His employees loved working for him. Women routinely fell in love with him.

I didn’t know why I could never get my act together so we could finally fall in love and stay in love. He’d certainly done his part. For some reason I’d always sensed that Dane was waiting for me, of all people. Why messed-up, confused me? Yet there he was. I’d found my reluctance easy to blame on my mother. She didn’t love me as a mother should, yada-yada, but I’d had enough time with my counselor to know that there are reasons beyond her. Reasons that circle back to myself.

I’d always felt as if I was chasing after parental love, but the longer I chased it, the further it receded from my reach. It left a hole in my heart that I was hard-pressed to fill. God had come close to doing the job. Close. But there was still something there, another blockade I had yet to blast away. I would probably be working on my “issues” my whole life. But as my friend Michaela says, “Everyone’s got issues.” Supposedly I need to embrace them. I just want them to go away.

“Yeah,” I muttered. Dane McConnell was better off without me. Who needed a woman still foundering in her past?

I had to focus on Mother. If this was indeed the end, I needed to wrap things up with her. Find closure. Some measure of peace. Even if she couldn’t say the words I longed to hear.

I love you, Krista.

Why was it that she had never been able to force those four words from her lips?

INTRODUCTION

What Do You Want Me to Do for You?

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hat prayer do you want answered? If you could sit down with God over a cup of coffee and He asked you, “What do you want Me to do for you?”–what would you say? What would you ask? Think about it. His question could usher in the greatest breakthrough of your life. I believe that God answers prayer. Yes, even yours.

While it’s true that God is not a genie, nor is He Santa Claus, He nonetheless wants to “give you the desires of your heart” (Ps. 37:4 nkjv). He understands your needs, and with a heart filled with love, generosity, and compassion, He reaches out to you at this time in your life.

Over the years, people have asked me some very interesting questions about prayer. Quite often they ask, “Is it unspiritual to ask God to help me get out of debt or make more money?” On occasion, some have quietly inquired if it’s all right to pray for a more dynamic and meaningful sex life in their marriage. One person asked me if God cared enough to hear her petition to be a better tennis player. While these prayer requests might seem unimportant to some, to those who are searching for answers, they are very important. In almost every situation my response is the same. God cares more than you think, and yes, you should share your heart with the Lord. There is hardly a conversation with God you shouldn’t have, especially if your heart is genuine and your desire is sincere. The following story illustrates just how much God cares about the details of our lives.

“God, we need Your help. We need Your provision.” Those were the sincere words I jotted down on a piece of paper sitting in a mandatory meeting just before the noon hour. My wife, girls, and I were planning to return to the United States from Central America for a year of itineration (traveling across the country to raise our ministerial budget). We needed no less than $5,000 for travel, a down payment on a used vehicle, security deposit, and first month’s rent, and if anything was left over, clothes for the girls. In short, we needed a financial miracle. That was March 31, 1999. April came and went. Our departure date was May 24.

The last weekend we were in Costa Rica, I spoke at a church called Oasis of Hope. I remember that night vividly. Because we were so strapped for cash, my shoes had holes in the soles. One of the ushers in the church came up to me and said, “Jason, would it bother you if I cleaned up your shoes? It’s just that they are too dirty.” Although it was a bit humiliating, I sat down in the back of the sanctuary while she polished them. Afterward, I thanked her, and she returned to her post.

That night, I shared a simple message of how God is the God of second chances. When I finished, the associate pastor walked onto the platform and, unbeknownst to me, announced that the church was going to receive an offering for us. Afterward, he instructed me to use it however I saw fit. The offering was $1,000. We were overwhelmed with gratitude for their generosity, and we were grateful, of course, to the Lord.

The week prior to our departure, we still needed $4,000. That was when I received a call from my father-in-law asking if I would be interested in translating for an Argentine evangelist at a crusade in San Diego, California, scheduled the day after we arrived. The coordinators needed someone to interpret from Spanish to English. I felt honored by the invitation and told him that I would be glad to help.

Five days later, we landed in Southern California and headed to the crusade. Along the way we stopped at a shopping mall to purchase new shoes. I didn’t want people to see my toes pushing through the soles.

The crusade went well.

The following morning, both the preacher and I were invited to eat breakfast with the pastors who had sponsored the event. I took all three of our girls to the restaurant while Cindee enjoyed some peace and quiet in the room. After we finished eating, the coordinator said, “Thank you so much for serving us in this capacity. You have truly blessed our hearts.” After giving an envelope to the speaker, he turned and gave one to me as well. I assumed that it was an offering for serving as the interpreter. I asked if I could apply whatever was in the envelope to any particular need we had. He replied, “Of course.”

After saying good-bye and exchanging hugs, I said to the girls, “Come on. Let’s go for a walk on the beach and find a park.” They were excited.

I waited until we found a set of swings and a jungle gym before I pulled out the envelope. The girls immediately started climbing like monkeys turned loose in a tree. I opened the envelope thinking, There’s probably a check for $250 to $300. I unfolded the check. At first, my eyes couldn’t believe it. This can’t be right, I thought. The dollar amount read “$4,000.00.” I rubbed my eyes for a second to ensure that my vision was clear. Then I focused on the portion where the check writer spelled out the amount on the check. It read: “Four thousand dollars and ____________ xx/100.”

I jumped up and screamed, “Hallelujah. God is our provider!” Indeed, He is our provider. As I danced around that little park my girls wondered what had gotten into me. In one powerful blow, God erased every financial need we had. There was enough money for us to purchase a used vehicle, set up an apartment, and buy some clothes for the entire family. I was so excited.

Six weeks later, we embarked upon the itineration trail. We were driving from California to Tennessee and spent the night in a hotel in New Mexico. Sitting on the side of the bed in the late afternoon, I received a call on my cell phone.

The voice on the other end was very serious. A man asked, “Is this Jason Frenn?”

I said, “Yes.”

He said, “I believe you translated for a recent crusade in the San Diego area. I am the accountant for the outreach. By chance when you received a check from us, was it made out for the amount of $400?”

It felt like the world’s rotation came to a grinding halt.

I took a deep breath and said, “No! No! The check you gave me was for the amount of $4,000.”

He said, “Four thousand dollars?! Well, that’s where all the money went. There has been a huge mistake, a $3,600 mistake to be exact! We need to resolve this problem. I have no idea what I was thinking. How’s your financial situation? Perhaps we can work out a solution.”

In about seven seconds, I told him the entire story, from my journal entry to the moment when he called me that afternoon.

After I explained everything that happened, I said, “Now, if you are saying that the check amount was a mistake and that we need to give you back $3,600, I am going to need a little bit of time. Because that four grand is gone!”

There was a long pause.

“If you’re telling me that you needed exactly $4,000, I can only assume the Lord led me to write out a check for that exact amount. It must be God’s will. Keep the $4,000. I’ll figure out how I will manage things on my end. God bless you!”

Then he hung up.

Indeed, God answered my request. Through a series of unpredictable circumstances, His provision came at the moment when we needed it. Never too early, never too late, His timing is always impeccable.

It’s been nearly twelve years, and we have seen hundreds upon hundreds of prayers answered. God has never abandoned us, never misled us, nor given us false hopes. He has seen us through thick and thin.

What about you? What are your dreams, aspirations, and desires? What mountain are you facing? What prayer do you want answered?

What This Book Can Do for You

In preparation for writing this book, I surveyed more than one thousand people and asked them one question: “If you could ask God in prayer for three things knowing that He would answer your request, what would you ask?” The answers were intriguing.

The single greatest prayer request was for the spiritual salvation of a family member or friend. The second-largest request was for some sort of financial breakthrough or career advancement. The third was for physical healing, often for someone else. The fourth was for spiritual growth. The fifth most popular prayer request was for physical protection and safety for their children, families, or themselves. Finally, people wanted the strength and opportunity to fulfill God’s call upon their lives.

Odds are, the prayers you want God to answer fall into one of the areas mentioned above, and my desire is that this book will help you pray and see the results that you desire. I pray that you see a major breakthrough, not in one area of your life but in many. I believe that it is God’s intent to help you move beyond the obstacles that keep you or a loved one from moving forward.

This book will give you insight into the prayers that God always answers. It will teach you to understand His heart so that you can pray in accordance with His will. This book will build your faith to move mountains. It will help you experience His power. My desire is that this book completely transforms your life!

Ask for the Impossible!

A man born blind was sitting along the side of the road. Each day, he held out his hand, hoping that those who passed by would drop a few coins into his cup. One day, he heard a distant rumble caused by a rather large entourage heading his way. Up until that time, no one born blind had ever recovered his or her sight (John 9:32). When he asked the person standing next to him what all the commotion was about, his neighbor replied, “Jesus of Nazareth is passing by.”

The famous healer has come to my town, he thought. Waiting for the precise moment when the central figure of the parade was at the shortest distance, he raised his voice and said, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” Those close by rebuked him and told him not to bother the Master. But he raised his voice even louder. That’s when Christ stopped, turned to His disciples, and said, “Bring him!” They brought him before the healer. Jesus asked him the question that sooner or later He asks every one of us: “What do you want Me to do for you?”

At that moment, the beggar could have answered, “I’d like a million dollars,” or perhaps “I’d like to be super famous.” Instead, he asked for the only thing that had never been done in the history of the world. He asked for what seemed to be impossible. “I want to see,” he said. Without hesitating, Christ granted his request, saying, “Your faith has healed you.” (Story paraphrased from Luke 18:35-42 niv.)

Just like those who tried to discourage the beggar, there will always be people who feel it’s their duty to tell you how insignificant you are. There will always be people who tell you that you don’t matter, especially when your dreams seem impossible. There will always be people who have the gift of raining on your parade. But God won’t. He cares about you. He always listens, because He loves you. So ask Him for what’s never been done before in your life. I challenge you to ask Him for the impossible.

As a missionary evangelist who has served throughout Latin America, the Caribbean, and the United States, my experience is that God answers the prayers placed within the pages of this book. I write from the experience of someone who lived fifteen years in the heart of Central America and has seen God transform the lives of hundreds of thousands of people. Without a doubt, He is interested in the details of your life. Ultimately, friend, it’s your faith placed in Him that will allow you to see the miracles and the breakthrough you seek.

Our Road Map

This book is about seven prayers that God always answers. These are prayers that aim to motivate the hand of God to direct you, forgive you, free you, provide for you, heal you, bless you, and save you. They are biblical, and I carry a deep conviction that they were born in God’s heart to benefit and bless your life. It’s fair to say that God answers all prayer with a “yes,” “no,” or “wait.” However the prayers discussed in this book all have something wonderful in common. They are prayers to which God always responds positively in one way or another. In a day when people question whether God interacts with humanity and when unbelief is spreading like a virus, this book aims to teach you to pray in such a way that you clearly see the hand of God move powerfully.

This book can serve you in two ways. First, you can apply these prayers to your personal life. Or if you are a leader, you can also apply them corporately to those you currently serve or lead, such as your family, church, or organization.

Each chapter is dedicated to a prayer. Beginning with chapter 1, the chapters are divided into sections that will explain each prayer, lay a biblical foundation, provide powerful testimonies, give different examples regarding how you might implement the specific type of prayer in your life, and teach you to pray in a way that helps you see results in each of the given areas.

As we conclude this introduction, I want to focus your attention on the first question we talked about earlier. I believe that God asks you the same question at this time in your life. At the beginning of this chapter, I gave you a scenario. If you could sit down over a cup of coffee with the Lord and He asked you, “What do you want Me to do for you?” what would be your answer?

As we begin this journey together, I am going to ask you to be mindful of two things. First, make a mental note of the prayers you want God to answer. Second, keep your eyes open to the possible ways He may use to answer them. (Please see Instructions for a Prayer Journal located at the end of the book.)

If you desire to see your prayers answered, fasten your seat belt and prepare yourself for some incredible and miraculous things to happen in your life. If you’re ready to experience something transformational, turn the page, and we’ll begin that journey together!