A family member passed a note along to me after having given her neighbor a copy of When God Breaks Your Heart.

This blog is to all the “anonymous” readers of When God Breaks Your Heart. Please know that all of your comments are forwarded to my personal email account and I do pray for you. I try to filter the remarks on this blog so your pain isn’t becoming a curiosity piece for casual readers. But this blog is the only way I can communicate back to you, to assure you of our prayers, and to let you know someone is listening.

My primary lesson for you is this:

God isn’t as distant as you think!

As you know from reading the book, I believe Jesus’ is screaming against your pain as tears flow down His holy face.

Trying to be as much a part of your life as a blog allows.

Has God Broken Your Heart, or the Heart of Someone You Love?

I titled my first book “When God Breaks Your Heart” because God broke my heart. I live with a chronic leukemia that almost took my life in 200o. I wish someone else could have written this book, but God chose me to suffer deeply so that I could help you trust Him, even when you feel He has broken your heart.

This is a book to help you or someone you love through the darkest days and nights.

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A friend asked me recently if I still wanted him to ask God to “Please let Ed live and serve.”

My response? “Absolutely! Why wouldn’t I want you to continue praying for me?”

He seemed surprised. “But we’ve been praying this for eleven years! Isn’t it time to stop asking or at least time to change the prayer a little? Don’t you think,” he wondered, “that God’s tired of hearing the same thing over and over again?”

His comment unmasks a common misconception about prayer: That we should communicate with God in adult ways—trying to figure out what He wants to hear and then making sure that we get it right and don’t bore Him.

When the Lord Jesus taught on prayer, He encouraged His disciples to relate to the Heavenly Father with childlike faith, words, and behavior. His central teaching on prayer, Luke 11:1-13, reads like a kindergarten lesson plan rather than a seminary course.

Model Prayer

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A very real dynamic in writing a book on suffering is that my heart hurts for so many who write me about their hopeless situations and deep pain. One recent comment is signed simply, Anonymous:

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Ed on Harvest Show from Ed Underwood on Vimeo.

After I finished my book, When God Breaks Your Heart, detailing my journey of faith living with a deadly disease, I thought I had said it all.

I’m discovering that there are days I just have to tell you one more thing. Today is one of those days.

It was April in 2000 when I wrote this desperate prayer and accompanying plea from Scripture in my journal:

Father, please give me ministry in my grandchildren’s lives. “Let Your work appear to Your servants, and Your glory to their children” (Psalm 90:16).

If you knew me back then or you’ve read the book, you know how bold that request was. I had nearly died in March and had not improved much since. The doctors were suspecting lymphoma, and following test after test, what they called my “numbers” refused to turn around.

I remember the day I wrote those sentences in my blood-stained journal vividly. Tears flowed as I begged God to let me have some influence in my grandchildren’s lives. Back then I was only thinking of two–Jackson and Megan.

I’m writing these words from my son’s home in Atlanta, where we just greeted Amelia Joy,who joins Jackson, Megan, Camryn, Mary, and Wyatt. Grandchild number 7–Zachary James–is now 10 months old.

I’m thinking of Saturday, the 10th of January 2009, when I spent the day with Amelia’s older sister and brother, Mary and Wyatt. I watched Mary’s skating lessons and Wyatt’s hockey practice. I was vaguely aware of some other children on the ice, but my heart glued my attention to one little twirling princess and one little bruiser in pads.

On the way home, Wyatt put his little arms around my neck and shouted, “We’re best pals!”

The Spirit reminded me one more time of the power of prayer and the comfort of being loved by a God who is perfectly reliable and strong.

I don’t know what’s breaking your heart today, but I suspect something is.

God knows, and He loves it when you ask Him for big things. You never know, He might just say yes.

Just like He did for me.

Thank you, Father, for hearing my desperate prayer. And for that almost-nine-years-later reminder from a blue-eyed little hockey star that You, not my doctors, number my days.

Still Want to Live and Serve?

A friend asked me recently if I still wanted him to ask God to “Please let Ed live and serve.”

My response? “Absolutely! Why wouldn’t I want you to continue praying for me?”

He seemed surprised. “But we’ve been praying this for eight years! Isn’t it time to stop asking or at least time to change the prayer a little? Don’t you think,” he wondered, “that God’s tired of hearing the same thing over and over again?”

His comment unmasks a common misconception about prayer: That we should communicate with God in adult ways—trying to figure out what He wants to hear and then making sure that we get it right and don’t bore Him.

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A few years ago Judy and I visited a friend during his last week on earth. His faith in Christ and hope of heaven encouraged all who watched him go home. As his body began to fail him, he referred to it as his “container”. He was in deep pain the day Judy and I were privileged to come to the side of our friend and his bride. We read Scripture, prayed for healing and comfort, and then had to say goodbye. We knew that unless the Lord intervened, we had probably talked with our dear friend for the last time and that the next time we talked to the love of his life, it would be at his memorial service.

Yet, as we were leaving, our friend demonstrated a life-lesson I’ve “lived” myself—he told us that he was going to mow the lawn!

Judy insisted that I intervene. “You can’t let him mow that lawn. Tell him you will do it for him!”

“No,” I told her, “you have no idea how much he needs to mow that lawn. If he collapses dead mowing that lawn, he will be happier than if I did it for him.”

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