How I’m Learning to Pray with Open Hands

… and a surrendered spirit

My beagle, Ginger, is hurt right now

We see a surgeon in a few days to determine if she needs surgery to repair a torn ACL. I’ll spend close to $600 just to get to this point and another several thousand if surgery is required. I’ve got the money to pay for surgery, if it’s needed, so that’s not what’s on my mind. I’m thinking back to 18 months ago when Ginger hurt her back.

She started wobbling ever so slightly on her back leg and then soon was almost falling over. It became obvious to my experienced eyes that she was losing control of her hind legs — a sure sign of disc injury. Having lived through this condition before with other small dogs, I moved into full-blown panic.

I’ve found that the first time through a particular crisis it’s easier to remain calm because naivety insulates us from fear. If you don’t know what could go wrong, you’ve got little to fear or worry about. Ignorance is bliss, right? And it is much easier to be positive when we are ignorant.

A first trip to the dentist is usually boring, but subsequent visits can reduce ordinarily strong people to quivering globs of anxiety. So, having experienced the worst possible outcome from a spinal injury in a dog, I couldn’t contain my fear and runaway thoughts of what could happen to Ginger (not to mention I had recently lost my Labradoodle, Colonel, and was not prepared for more doggie trauma.)

I lost it. I’m being honest — it was ugly.

Panic-stricken, my mind jumped to the worst-case scenario and I threw myself on the bed crying, “I can’t do this again!” My ever rational and completely selfless husband brought me back to reality in a non-customary stern voice: “This is not about you. This is about Ginger.” And he left the room.

I was stunned. I felt like a dramatic starlet in a corny 1940’s film when the dashing lover smacks her across the face to calm her down. Only I’d been smacked with love.

The Holy Spirit stepped in as my husband stepped out and He spoke to my heart: I know you’ve been through this before and it was bad and it was painful, but … it’s different this time.

Sobered and calmed, I was now hope-filled. It’s different this time. I rolled those words across my heart. It’s not about me; it’s about Ginger, I confessed out loud. I sat up in bed and began to pray. The Spirit guided me. Open your hands, He whispered. I instinctively knew this was a symbolic gesture for me to let go, to surrender.

“He says, ‘Be still, and know that I am God.’”(Psalm 46:10, NIV)

I had recently heard that this verse translated means: “Let go, and know that I am God.” I also remembered one of my favorite sayings:

“If you love something set it free. If it comes back, it’s yours forever. If it doesn’t, it never was.”

I often romanticized this line as a way to soothe my wounded heart after a teenage breakup, but the truth is it’s hard to let go of what you love, especially a cuddly little rescue dog named Ginger — and a beautiful, compassionate Labradoodle named Colonel. Would God ask me to give up Ginger so soon after saying good-bye to Colonel?

Let her go? I asked. Wasn’t I supposed to fight for what I love? Do spiritual warfare to see her healed? Storm the gates of hell and demand that Satan’s minions loose her from this affliction? Pound on God’s door until He healed her?

Open hands. It’s different this time. It’s not about me; it’s about Ginger. What did all this mean?

I began to pray with open hands

I acknowledged that I didn’t know what was best for Ginger — only God did. I confessed that if I loved her, I would want whatever was best for her — even if it meant the worst possible scenario for me.

My heart was breaking as I prayed, and tears flowed fiercely as I mourned the loss of Colonel and surrendered Ginger to her Creator. I prayed for Him to do what was best for her, that I would let go of my idea of the best outcome and listen to His voice, that I would not panic or cling to the outcome I wanted.

Peace replaced fear and the peace that passes all understanding (Philippians 4:7) was made real in my heart.

In a matter of minutes, I had shifted from a fear-filled blob of selfishness to a centered, mature human grounded in God’s love for me and my dog.

After my head and heart were clear and I’d placed Ginger in the safest possible place she could be — the arms of her loving Creator — I knew our next steps. Surgeons had recommended surgery (the sooner the better) but I knew we were supposed to opt for medication and cage rest. I adhered to the strict schedule of medications and only let Ginger out of her cage to use the bathroom. The vets instructed me to watch for small, incremental improvements. They were skeptical, I could tell, but I was confident, calm, and content. It’s different this time became my mantra when doubts threatened to infiltrate my peace.

Ginger improved daily

It was subtle at first, but I was keenly aware of what to look for and have an eye for detail. When the vet called a few days later, she sounded surprised that improvements were visible. Within a week, it was obvious that Ginger’s injury was healing.

I did not return to prayer day after day pleading for Ginger’s healing. I’d already done what needed to be done. I’d given her to God, and He’d given me His answer: It’s different this time.

There is a similar story in the Bible, and it’s recounted in Matthew 8:5–13. Perhaps you’ve heard of it? It’s about the Roman soldier's servant — well, actually it’s about the soldier and faith.

“As Jesus entered the village of Capernaum, a Roman captain came up in a panic and said, ‘Master, my servant is sick. He can’t walk. He’s in terrible pain.’

Jesus said, ‘I’ll come and heal him.’

‘Oh, no,’ said the captain. ‘I don’t want to put you to all that trouble. Just give the order and my servant will be fine. I’m a man who takes orders and gives orders. I tell one soldier, “Go,” and he goes; to another, “Come,” and he comes; to my slave, “Do this,” and he does it.’

Taken aback, Jesus said, ‘I’ve yet to come across this kind of simple trust in Israel, the very people who are supposed to know all about God and how he works. This man is the vanguard of many outsiders who will soon be coming from all directions — streaming in from the east, pouring in from the west, sitting down at God’s kingdom banquet alongside Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Then those who grew up “in the faith” but had no faith will find themselves out in the cold, outsiders to grace and wondering what happened.’

Then Jesus turned to the captain and said, ‘Go. What you believed could happen has happened.’ At that moment his servant became well.” (Romans 8:5–13, MSG)

I love the matter-of-fact response from Jesus: “I’ll come and heal him.” He doesn’t demand that the soldier recite well-crafted prayers or ask if this Roman “unbeliever” deserves God’s grace. He just gives the man a simple answer.

It’s different this time was His matter-of-fact answer to me. How sobering it is when we complicate faith and Jesus brings us back to reality. We get confused about prayer because sometimes our answers don’t come right away. Sometimes we have to knock on the door like the persistent widow or be patient like the Canaanite woman who was willing to receive even the scraps of faith. But sometimes it’s done at the moment we open our hands and let God be who He wants to be for us at that moment.

“It’s different this time” were God’s calming words

They allowed me to enter into what He was already doing for Ginger. It’s different every time God enters into our world, is it not? Once Jesus healed a blind man with mud and spit, and another time He simply touched a blind man’s eyes. Sometimes Jesus spoke healing, and it was done; other times, He gave instructions for healing, and as those in need went on their way in obedience they were healed.

It’s different each time we approach God in prayer, so it behooves us to come with open hands, willing to receive what He already has for us, not clinging to our childish requests for the outcome we want.

God wanted me to move into a new place of faith the day I learned to pray with open hands. Yes, Ginger’s hurt again, but I’m not panicking this time. I’m holding her out to the One who knows what she needs and eagerly awaiting His next steps for both of us. With open hands.

This story is published in Koinonia — stories by Christians to encourage, entertain, and empower you in your faith, food, fitness, family, and fun.

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