A Praying Mother
Updated: 4 days ago
A Praying Mother
A Stone of Remembrance From August 29
By: Holly Gernatt BSN, RN, Flight Nurse
There are moments in life that divide time.
There is who you were before the moment—and who you became after it.
August 29 was one of those moments for me.
My son, Jaxon, loves jiu-jitsu. And when I say he loves it, I mean it has become part of the young man he is growing into.
He trains four or five days a week, sometimes more. He trains with younger students and older students. He pushes himself. He learns discipline. He gets frustrated. He gets back up.
He works harder. He has developed confidence and strength through this sport that, as his mother and father, we could encourage—but we could never pull out of him ourselves.
Jiu-jitsu did something in him.
We watched our boy begin becoming a young man.
Over time, there have been tournaments where he placed second or third, with a few gold medals sprinkled in. At his previous tournament, he had taken gold in both gi and no-gi, and he was ecstatic.
So on August 29, we traveled to Syracuse for another tournament.
Like any mother watching her child compete, I was slightly anxious. That was nothing unusual. Competition brings nerves.
But I had no idea what that day was about to become.
The Match
The match began aggressively.
Pretty early into it, I realized Jaxon was up against a very strong opponent, and I had the feeling he probably wasn't going to win this one.
My heart sank a little.
I had been recording the match, but somewhere around a minute into it, disappointed and thinking I already knew how it would end, I stopped recording.
And then something inside me said:
No. Record it.
So I started recording again.
Less than twenty seconds later, everything changed.
Jaxon was on top of his opponent, attempting to work into a submission. During the movement that followed, both boys went down. Jaxon landed hard on his right side with an impact involving his head and neck.
And immediately, something in me knew.
I watched his body.
I watched his legs.
I watched the way he responded afterward.
I had watched this child get thrown, rolled, twisted, knocked around and put into positions throughout years of training that would make most mothers cringe. Normally, Jaxon bounced right back up.
This time he didn't.
And before anyone gave me a diagnosis, before a paramedic assessed him, before there was an MRI, before I knew what had happened—
I began to pray.
Lord, heal my son.
Whatever injury just occurred, heal it now!
Lord, Your provision is already done! Protect him. Heal him!
I wasn't simply thinking words.
In my heart, I could picture the Lord coming over my son and healing whatever had just happened inside his body.
Then the referee stopped the match.
I watched Jaxon attempt to orient himself to the referee, and something was wrong. He tried to get up, staggered backward and attempted to brace himself.
That was when I stopped recording.
I was going to my son.
When the Nurse Became the Mother
I went behind Jaxon, placed my hand behind his shoulder and tried to get him to look at me.
He wasn't responding normally.
His words were difficult to find. He couldn't seem to articulate what he was trying to tell me. He was profusely sweating.
My clinical brain immediately started working.
For years I have cared for critically ill and injured people. I am a flight nurse. I have worked in critical care and trauma. I know what neurological compromise can look like.
But this wasn't my patient.
This was my son.
Eventually he managed to get out only a few words.
“My neck.”
Then again:
“My neck. It hurts.”
I tried to get him to tell me where, but he couldn't articulate it.
I gently lowered him to the mat while supporting his head and neck, and I began maintaining cervical spine stabilization.
I tried to get him to follow commands.
Move your arms.
Move your legs.
Squeeze my hands.
He couldn't.
Eventually, medical personnel working the event came onto the mat. As they assessed him, I kept asking them to check his neurological function.
“Squeeze her hands, Jaxon.”
He couldn't.
And I will never forget his response.
“I'm trying. I'm trying.”
He wasn't refusing.
He wasn't too frightened to cooperate.
My son was telling us he was trying to move his body—and his body was not doing what he was asking it to do.
Then he began describing numbness and tingling involving his face and upper body.
My heart sank deeper.
The scene around us became chaotic. More people gathered. Questions were being asked. Someone needed to call 911.
But underneath all of that noise, there was another conversation happening.
A conversation no one around me could fully hear.
I was talking to Jesus.
Lord, if there is an injury in my son's neck, heal him.
Heal him now.
Jesus, cover him.
Protect him.
I looked over and saw Melissa, the mother of Jaxon's girlfriend, Cara. Melissa is an EMT, and I called her onto the mat.
I needed another set of medically trained hands.
As I continued holding Jaxon's neck, I asked Melissa to perform a neurological assessment.
Jaxon still couldn't move appropriately.
He began crying.
“I can't feel anything.”
“I can't move.”
His fear became overwhelming.
The scene around us became even more chaotic. More people began stepping in, asking questions and trying to help with his care. But as the chaos around him increased, so did our fear.
I couldn't control or quiet the entire room. I couldn't control or fix what was happening inside his body.
So I leaned down close to his ear and began to pray the Our Father to shut off the world around us. As I began to pray the world around us slowed down.
Our Father, who art in heaven...
I prayed slowly and quietly, directly into my son's ear. He heard me praying. In that moment, we prayed together—my voice carrying the words as he listened. In the middle of the noise and fear, that familiar prayer gave us something steady to hold onto.
That moment felt like Peter after he stepped out of the boat. When he became overwhelmed by the wind and waves, he began to sink and cried out, “Save me, Lord!” The chaos around us felt like those waves. I could not calm the storm, but I could call upon the One who could reach us in the middle of it!
At one point, his hands became contracted. Melissa attempted to straighten them, and they returned to the contracted position.
His arms remained profoundly weak.
His legs remained profoundly weak.
When repositioned, his limbs simply fell to the side.
And now the flight nurse in me understood the potential severity of what I was seeing.
But the mother in me was breaking.
Jaxon began asking for Cara.
So we brought her close.
She whispered into his ear. She gently touched him. Melissa helped coach his breathing. We tried to keep him calm.
And then something else began happening around us.
People began to pray.
I could hear pieces of it.
Quiet prayers.
People calling upon God for this child lying on the mat.
What had begun as one mother's desperate prayer was becoming the prayer of many.
A Praying Mother Is Like No Other
When EMS arrived, the event medical provider looked at me and told me to give report because I had been assessing him.
I cannot fully explain what that felt like.
I have given reports countless times.
I have handed off critically ill patients.
I have described neurological findings.
I have communicated acuity.
I have spoken clinically when situations around me were emotionally devastating.
But now I was giving report on my son.
I was holding his cervical spine while explaining his inability to move his extremities.
I was describing the weakness.
The sensory changes.
The contractions of his hands.
And all the while, underneath the clinical language, I was praying.
We transferred him onto the stretcher while maintaining cervical spine precautions.
When I finally released my hands from his neck and trusted the ambulance crew to take over stabilization, I stepped off that mat, grabbed my shoes and my phone, and looked at my son lying on that stretcher.
I almost couldn't comprehend what I was seeing.
Lord, please heal my son.
Whatever is injured, heal him.
Please, Lord.
As we moved toward the ambulance, I remember saying something to the medic:
“A praying mother is like no other. And that's what I'm doing right now.”
She looked at me and told me something I desperately needed to hear.
Other people were praying too she said.
She stated people in the crowd were praying.
She stated people were saying things like, “Godspeed,” and asking God to hold this child.
For just a moment, that comforted me.
Then came another moment that nearly brought me to my knees.
Before I climbed into the ambulance, the medic stopped me.
She told me she needed to be candid with me.
She had identified another clinical finding that significantly heightened my concern for an acute spinal cord injury. She had stated she noted priapism.
And because I understood the medical significance of what she was telling me, the wall I had been holding up finally cracked.
I threw my hands above my head.
I turned away from everyone.
And right there—surrounded by paramedics, EMTs, law enforcement, families, competitors and strangers—I literally reached toward heaven.
I didn't care who saw me.
I didn't care what anybody thought.
I needed Jesus.
Lord, protect my son.
Hold my son.
Whatever has been injured, it has already been healed!
Lord, when they take those images, please let them find nothing catastrophic.
I needed a few seconds before climbing into that ambulance.
I needed to get myself together because Jaxon did not need to see the fear on his mother's face.
So I prayed.
I gathered myself.
And then I climbed in.
When My Mind Wanted to Run Ahead
During transport, I held my son's hand.
It was limp.
His fingers couldn't squeeze mine.
And this is where having medical knowledge became both a blessing and a burden.
My mind knew where it could go.
Surgery.
Spinal cord injury.
Permanent neurological deficits.
Quadriplegia.
Rehabilitation.
What would this afternoon look like?
What would this week look like?
What would the rest of his life look like?
For a moment, my mind tried to run years ahead of the ambulance.
And I couldn't let it.
Again, the story that came into my heart was Peter stepping out of the boat toward Jesus.
Peter actually walked on the water while his eyes were fixed on Christ. But when he began looking at the wind and waves surrounding him, fear overtook him and he began to sink. His prayer became incredibly simple:
“Save me, Lord!”
And Jesus immediately reached for him.
Matthew 14:28–31
That ambulance was my storm.
Everything medicine had taught me represented the wind and waves.
And I knew those waves were real.
Faith wasn't asking me to pretend they weren't there.
Faith was asking me:
Where are you going to look?
I could stare at every possible diagnosis until I drowned in fear.
Or I could acknowledge what was happening, allow the medical team to do everything they needed to do, and keep my eyes fixed on Jesus.
So I kept praying.
Not because I knew exactly what God was going to do.
Not because Christians are guaranteed that every frightening situation ends exactly the way we ask.
Prayer is not a formula, and God is not someone we manipulate with the correct words.
I prayed because I knew Who held my son when I could not.
Praying Over the Hands Caring for Him
When we arrived at the trauma center in Syracuse, Jaxon was taken into the trauma room.
I knew what was coming.
Doctors.
Nurses.
Assessments.
Questions.
Imaging.
Decisions.
I kept telling my son:
“Don't worry. Everything is going to be okay.”
They initially asked me to remain outside the room.
That didn't last very long.
Once the nurse walked away, I quietly made my way close enough to hear what was happening.
I listened to the paramedic give report.
I listened as the trauma team assessed my son's extremities.
I listened as they called out their neurological findings.
And again my heart sank.
The weakness was still there.
But my prayer began changing.
I wasn't only praying for Jaxon anymore.
I began praying for every person touching him.
Lord, guide this nurse.
Guide this physician.
Guide this surgeon.
Give them wisdom.
Help them see what they need to see.
Guide their decisions.
Steady their hands.
Give them discernment.
Protect my son through them.
That day reminded me that faith and medicine do not have to be enemies.
I don't have to diminish the paramedics who protected Jaxon's cervical spine to give God glory.
I don't have to diminish the physicians who assessed him.
I don't have to diminish the nurses who cared for him.
I don't have to diminish MRI technology.
I can thank God for all of it.
Perhaps some of His provision was standing directly in front of me wearing scrubs, gloves and EMS uniforms.
The people caring for Jaxon might not have even realized that while they were doing their jobs, there was a mother standing nearby asking Jesus Christ to guide every decision they made.
The Waiting
Eventually, Jaxon was moved to the pediatric emergency department while we waited for MRI.
And anyone who has ever waited for an MRI when they desperately need an answer knows how slowly those minutes can pass.
We were restless.
We were exhausted.
We were frightened.
Jaxon needed to remain still.
And I drove him absolutely crazy.
About every fifteen minutes:
“Jaxon, squeeze my hands.”
Again.
“Squeeze.”
And then I began noticing something.
There was strength.
Not all of it.
But more than before.
15 mintues later, again.
“Squeeze my hands.”
More strength.
15 mintues later, again.
More.
The numbness and tingling began to fade.
15 mintues later, again.
His movement began returning.
15 mintues later, again.
My heart started settling, but I knew we weren't finished yet.
We still needed the imaging.
So while we waited, I kept praying.
But somewhere in those hours, another beautiful thing started happening.
Jaxon started becoming Jaxon again.
As the fear settled and his strength continued returning, so did his personality.
The tears began giving way to conversation.
The frightened boy who had been lying on a jiu-jitsu mat telling us he couldn't move started cracking jokes with the medical staff.
And if you know my son, you know exactly what that meant.
There he was.
There was my boy.
Even while lying in a hospital bed waiting for answers, that joking personality began coming right back out of him. At one point, he looked at the glowing red light from the SpO₂ monitor on his finger, held it up, and started saying, “Hoooommmeeee… hhhoooommme…” like E.T. trying to “phone home.”
It was such a simple, silly moment—but after everything we had just witnessed, hearing him joke again felt like another little piece of my son returning right before my eyes.
I cannot adequately explain the relief of hearing your child joke after spending hours wondering whether he would ever move normally again.
Every little sarcastic comment, every smile, every moment where he started messing around with the nurses became another tiny reassurance to this mother's heart:
He's coming back.
And yes—after everything that happened—his love for jiu-jitsu is still there.
Apparently one terrifying trip to a trauma center was not enough to convince this kid that he no longer loves the sport.
That's Jaxon.
When it is medically safe and he is appropriately cleared to return, I have no doubt he will want to get back on that mat.
Because jiu-jitsu is still something he loves.
What happened that day did not take that away from him.
And Then the MRI Came Back
Hours earlier, I had watched my son unable to squeeze someone's hands while crying:
“I'm trying.”
I had watched his arms and legs become profoundly weak.
I had heard him say he couldn't feel his body.
I had held his neck while begging Jesus to heal whatever had happened.
I had stood outside an ambulance with my hands raised toward heaven asking God that the imaging would show no catastrophic injury.
Now my son was moving again.
His strength returned.
The numbness and tingling resolved.
His personality was back.
And then the physician entered the room.
The MRI of the cervical and upper/lower thoracic region did not show the catastrophic structural injury we had feared.
We could go home.
And I cannot tell this story without telling you what happened inside of me in that moment.
Jesus.
Thank You, Jesus.
What May Have Happened Medically
The medical explanation we were given was consistent with transient cervical spinal cord neurapraxia, sometimes discussed in sports medicine in association with transient quadriparesis.
This is a recognized neurological phenomenon after cervical trauma in which a person can temporarily develop bilateral sensory changes—such as numbness or tingling—and motor changes ranging from significant weakness to paralysis. Symptoms can subsequently resolve, even when imaging does not reveal the catastrophic structural injury initially feared.
I include that because I don't want to sensationalize what happened.
There is a medical framework for the symptoms Jaxon experienced.
There were trained professionals who evaluated him.
There were appropriate precautions.
There was advanced imaging.
And there was recovery.
But understanding that medical explanation does not erase what I experienced spiritually.
Medicine can describe what happened in the body without answering every question of providence.
I cannot put God's hand on an MRI.
I cannot show you the moment of healing on a monitor.
I cannot scientifically tell you what happened in the unseen.
What I can tell you is what I witnessed.
My son could not move normally.
My son could not squeeze our hands.
My son was crying that he was trying.
Multiple medical providers found significant neurological weakness.
I prayed.
Other people prayed.
Women I reached out to prayed.
His jiu-jitsu family prayed.
People we didn't even know prayed.
Over the following hours his neurological function returned.
And the imaging did not reveal the devastating injury I feared.
You may choose to call that coincidence.
I choose to remember.
Have We Become Too Quick to Explain God Away?
This is something I have been thinking deeply about ever since.
Have we become so sophisticated that we are afraid to give God credit?
Something happens.
We pray desperately.
The outcome changes.
And then, once the danger passes, we explain everything away.
“It was probably going to turn out fine anyway.”
“It was good timing.”
“The doctors handled it.”
“The body recovered.”
“It was just coincidence.”
And somehow the God we were crying out to five minutes earlier gets edited out of the story.
I don't want to live that way.
I am not saying every delayed appointment is divine intervention.
I am not saying every accident is a direct attack from Satan.
I am not saying Christians will always receive the outcome they desperately pray for.
There are faithful men and women who have prayed through unimaginable suffering and still experienced loss. God remains God even when we do not understand His answer.
But I also refuse to swing so far in the opposite direction that I become unwilling to recognize His provision when I believe I have witnessed it.
Scripture says:
“Pray about everything.”—Philippians 4:6
And Scripture promises that God's peace can guard our hearts and minds in Christ even while circumstances remain uncertain.
James tells us that earnest prayer has tremendous power.
Why would Scripture repeatedly tell us to pray if prayer were merely a psychological exercise to make frightened people feel better?
Prayer matters.
A Praying Woman
When I think about the title of this story, I think about Hannah.
First Samuel tells us that Hannah was in deep anguish when she prayed. She wept. Her pain was so deep that her lips were moving while almost no sound came out.
When Eli misunderstood what he was witnessing, Hannah explained:
“I was pouring out my heart to the Lord.”
That is prayer.
Sometimes a praying woman sounds powerful.
Sometimes she speaks Scripture confidently.
Sometimes she worships with her hands raised.
And sometimes a praying woman is kneeling beside her child on a gymnasium mat, holding his cervical spine, surrounded by chaos, barely able to form a complete sentence.
Sometimes prayer is:
Lord, heal my son.
Again.
Heal my son.
Again.
Please, Lord.
And when there are no more words, the heart keeps praying.
That's what I learned that day.
A praying woman is not a woman who never becomes afraid.
She is a woman who knows where to take her fear.
A praying woman does not have to know the outcome.
She knows the One who holds it.
A praying woman does not deny the storm.
She anchors herself to Christ in the middle of it.
A praying woman can understand every medical possibility in front of her and still say:
Jesus, I trust You more than what I can see right now.
My Stone of Remembrance
And this is why I am writing all of this down.
Joshua 4 tells the story of Israel crossing the Jordan River.
After God brought them through, He instructed them to take stones from the river and build a memorial.
Why?
Because one day their children would ask:
“What do these stones mean?”
And God's people were supposed to tell them what the Lord had done.
God knew something about us.
We forget.
We cry out to Him in the crisis.
Then life settles down.
Dinner needs made.
Laundry piles up.
Work resumes.
The kids go back to school.
And slowly, something that once brought us to our knees becomes a story we casually tell.
I don't want August 29 to become casual.
This blog is one of my stones.
Years from now, when fear tells me God has abandoned me, I want to remember.
When my faith feels weak, I want to remember.
When Jaxon someday looks back on this chapter of his life, I want him to remember.
When someone asks me why I believe prayer matters, I want to remember.
I was there.
I watched it.
I heard it.
I held my son's neck.
I felt his limp hand in mine.
I heard him say, “I'm trying.”
I heard my son cry because he couldn't move.
I watched strength begin returning to his body.
I watched his personality return until he was lying in a hospital bed cracking jokes with the very people caring for him.
I heard the physician tell us the imaging did not show the catastrophic injury we feared.
And I walked out of that hospital with my son.
So this is my stone.
August 29.
Remember.
From 2019 to Now a little testimony
There is another reason this moment carries so much weight for me.
In 2019, my husband's accident became part of the story through which Jesus Christ drew me to Himself. That year I found who Jesus Christ truly was by reading scriptue and stopped following the world of what they told me He was.
At that time, I didn't truly know Jesus the way I know Him today.
But somehow, in the middle of that crisis, I knew I needed to pray to Him in 2019.
I knew I needed Jesus before I really understood who Jesus was.
And then I began walking with Him.
Year after year, He taught me through His Word.
He corrected me.
He changed me.
He showed me who He truly is.
He taught me that Christianity isn't simply knowing about Jesus.
It is knowing Him.
Walking with Him.
Remaining in Him.
Trusting Him.
So when another crisis came years later—this time involving my child—the woman praying was different.
In 2019, I cried out to a Jesus I was only beginning to discover.
On August 29, I cried out to the Jesus I have spent years learning to trust.
And I realized something:
The years between those two moments mattered.
Every morning in Scripture mattered.
Every prayer mattered.
Every trial mattered.
Every time He showed Himself faithful mattered.
Because you don't build an anchor after the storm arrives.
You build it beforehand.
Then when the waves come, you know what you're attached to.
On July 19, I published a Bible Care Plan about the Shunammite woman. I wrote about a mother facing an unimaginable crisis involving her son and choosing to run toward God instead of away from Him.
At the time, it was simply Scripture I was studying and sharing. I had no idea that weeks later I would find myself kneeling beside my own son, facing circumstances I could not control, being asked to live the very words I had written.
Sometimes we don't realize that the Word we are hiding in our hearts today may become the very Word that holds us together tomorrow.
To Every Woman Reading This
Pray.
Pray when things are good.
Pray when things are falling apart.
Pray when you have beautiful words.
Pray when all you can say is His name.
Pray over your children.
Pray over your husband.
Pray over your family.
Pray over the doctors.
Pray over the nurses.
Pray over the paramedics.
Pray over the strangers God places around you.
Pray through the chaos.
Pray through the waiting.
Pray when your mind begins racing toward everything that could go wrong.
And then bring your eyes back to Jesus.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Do not underestimate the power of a praying woman who is anchored in Jesus Christ and His Word.
And when God brings you through something—
remember.
Build the stone.
Write the story.
Tell your children.
Give Him the glory.
Thank You to Everyone Who Stood With Us
There are so many people woven into August 29, and I don't want to finish this story without acknowledging them.
To every prehospital provider who cared for my son, thank you.
To the event medical personnel, EMS crews, nurses, physicians, trauma team and every person who had a hand in Jaxon's care: thank you.
You may have thought you were simply doing your job that day, but to this mother, you were caring for one of the most precious people God has entrusted to me.
To Melissa, who came onto that mat and helped me assess and care for Jaxon when I desperately needed another set of trained hands: thank you.
To Cara, who came close when Jaxon was frightened, whispered reassurance into his ear and simply let him know she was there: thank you.
To every mother, father, coach, teammate, competitor and member of the jiu-jitsu community who stopped what you were doing and prayed: thank you.
To the strangers in that audience who may not have even known my son's name but still called upon God for him: thank you.
And I also want to say something directly to Jaxon's opponent that day.
I don't know what went through your heart afterward.
I don't know whether you replayed that match in your mind.
I don't know whether you felt frightened, guilty, upset or worried about Jaxon.
But if you did, I hope you hear this:
Please don't carry that weight.
You were two young men participating in a sport you both love. Jiu-jitsu is physical. Things happen quickly. Positions change in a matter of seconds, and neither of you stepped onto that mat expecting what happened next.
We hope you continue to grow, train and enjoy the sport too.
And I hope that when you think about that day, you don't only remember the frightening moment. I hope you know that Jaxon is still very much Jaxon.
In fact, once the dust settled and his fear began to lift, Jaxon was already back to cracking jokes with the medical staff. By the time we were discharged, he had asked if he could keep his cervical collar as a kind of “tournament trophy.” And on the drive home, he somehow managed to turn it into a helmet and wear it on his head—because apparently even after one of the scariest days of our lives, Jaxon was still very much Jaxon.
Because apparently even a cervical spine scare couldn't keep this kid from being a smart aleck for very long.
That was one of the moments I knew:
There's my boy.
And knowing Jaxon, when he is safely cleared, he'll be itching to get back to training.
He still loves jiu-jitsu.
He still loves his teammates.
He still loves the competition.
He still loves the challenge.
And this experience does not change the gratitude we have for the sport, the coaches, the competitors and the community that has helped shape him into the young man he is becoming.
And then there are my praying Jesus loving women.
My prayer warriors in Jesus Christ name - you know who you are.
The women I texted that day and simply said:
Pray for my son.
You prayed.
You didn't need all the details.
You didn't need a diagnosis.
You didn't need to know exactly what was happening inside that emergency department.
You stood in the gap and prayed for my child.
I will never forget that.
Those prayers mattered to me more than I can adequately put into words.
And to Jaxon's entire jiu-jitsu family—the mothers, fathers, athletes, coaches and friends who covered him in prayer—thank you.
That day showed me what a community can look like when everything else suddenly stops and people come together around one frightened child and one frightened family.
Most of all:
Thank You, Jesus.
Thank You for holding my son when my own arms could not fix what was happening.
Thank You for the people You placed around us.
Thank You for the wisdom of the medical professionals.
Thank You for Melissa.
Thank You for Cara.
Thank You for every person who prayed.
Thank You for every hand that cared for him.
Thank You for the strength that returned.
Thank You for the laughter that returned.
Thank You for allowing me to watch my son's personality come back right in front of me.
Thank You for the images that brought reassurance.
Thank You for bringing my boy home.
I will not pretend I understand everything about what happened that day.
But I will also not explain away what I believe I witnessed.
I prayed.
We prayed.
And I believe God moved.
So when the world tells me it was simply coincidence, I will return to my stone.
When time tries to soften the memory, I will return to my stone.
When fear comes again someday—and I'm sure it will—I will return to my stone.
And I will remember:
The Lord was there.
The Lord heard us.
The Lord held my son.
And I will keep praying.
Because a praying woman knows that in the middle of the storm, there is only one place strong enough to anchor her soul.
Jesus Christ.
“God is our refuge and strength, always ready to help in times of trouble.”—Psalm 46:1, NLT
Biblical Reflection — Read & Remember
Joshua 3–4 — Crossing the Jordan & Stones of Remembrance
Especially Joshua 4:1–7, 19–24 God instructed His people to establish a memorial so that future generations would remember what the Lord had done.
Matthew 14:22–33 — Peter Walks on Water
Especially Matthew 14:28–31 Peter stepped toward Jesus in the middle of the storm. When his attention shifted toward the wind and waves, fear overtook him. Jesus remained there to reach for him.
1 Samuel 1:9–18 — Hannah Pours Out Her Heart to the Lord
Especially 1 Samuel 1:10–16 Hannah prayed through anguish, tears and words that could barely be heard. She described herself as pouring out her heart before the Lord.
Romans 8:26–28 — When We Don't Have the Words to Pray
Especially Romans 8:26 The Holy Spirit helps us in our weakness when we don't even know what we ought to pray.
Philippians 4:6–7 — Pray Through Anxiety Bring everything to God in prayer and allow His peace to guard your heart and mind in Christ Jesus.
James 5:13–18 — The Power of Prayer
Especially James 5:16A reminder that earnest prayer is powerful and effective.
Psalm 46:1–3, 10–11 — God Is Our Refuge God remains our refuge and strength and is present in times of trouble.
Psalm 121:1–8 — Where Does My Help Come From? Our help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.
Psalm 34:4–8, 17–18 — The Lord Hears A testimony that the Lord hears His people when they cry out and remains close to the brokenhearted.
Mark 4:35–41 — Jesus Calms the Storm The storm was real. The disciples' fear was real. But Jesus was in the boat.
1 Thessalonians 5:16–18 — Never Stop Praying A call to remain prayerful and thankful through every circumstance.
A Verse to Carry With You
“God is our refuge and strength, always ready to help in times of trouble.”—Psalm 46:1, NLT
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