When the phone rang at 2:17 AM, I jolted awake. I knew by the tone of my husband Dan's voice that something bad had happened.

"Calm down, Sarah," he said into the receiver. "I know everything will be fine. Calm down, honey. I can't understand you. What happened?"

Silence. My stomach twisted into a knot.

"I know. I know." He consoled.

Silence.

"When?" He asked.

Silence. My muscles flinched.

"What did the doctor say?" He probed.

Silence.

"When are the tests?"

Dead silence. I held my breath.

Dan finally whispered to me, "Matt's in the hospital, and they don't know what's wrong. Sarah's hysterical."

Panic gripped my body and fear flooded my mind.

"Oh God, what should I do?" I prayed. "Matt is only four. What could have happened to my precious step-grandson?

As Dan attempted to calm Sarah, flashbacks of the last fourteen years pierced my heart. My relationship with my stepdaughter was fragile. She blamed me for her parent's divorce. To her, I was that woman her dad chose to love instead of her. She wanted nothing to do with us.

When Sarah married, we attended her wedding where I tried to appear invisible. Over time, her heart softened, but she still kept her distance. For years, I walked on eggshells around Sarah. I simply encouraged Dan to reconcile with his firstborn child. After all, a daughter needs her dad.

With the adoption of Matt, the tide turned. Our maternal instincts created a bond that only mothers experience. I invested in Matt's life, and Sarah responded in a positive way. She gave me a chance to prove myself trustworthy, and I was not about to blow the opportunity. Two years later when Kaitlin was born, our relationship strengthened. Forgiveness crept in over time.

Sarah trusted us now with her broken heart. How can I make a difference? What can I do from 1,473 miles away? All I know to do is pray. Call on God. Cry to God for help.

Sadly, my relationship with Sarah did not include spiritual connection, so I kept my faith to myself.

Dan's voice interrupted my thoughts. He continued to console, but human strength is no match for a crisis.

Then I heard the still small voice in my head whisper, "Ask Sarah if you could pray for her."

What!? No way, I thought. She will think I'm crazy. I have no idea what to say.

The voice persisted, "Ask Sarah if you could pray for her and Matt."

When Dan sighed in discouragement, I knew I had to intercede. I had one split second to choose fear or faith. My stomach churned, and my hand shook as I reached for the receiver.

"Sarah, do you want me to pray for you?"

"Would you?" She sniffed.

"I'd love to."

I have no idea what I said to God, but thankfully the words calmed Sarah's spirit. She was composed when she hung up the phone. Dan and I hugged with a sigh of relief. Parenting is never over.

The next afternoon, I flinched when I overheard Dan talking to Sarah again.

"Oh, good honey," he said. "I'm so relieved. Did you say you want to speak to Jeanne? Okay, here she is." He shoved the phone my way.

I froze. In fourteen years, Sarah has never asked to speak to me. My heart skipped a beat. What does she want? I worried. I felt apprehensive as I took the receiver. "Hello?"

"Oh, Jeanne, thank you so much for praying for Matt. I know you prayed all night, and I know it's because of your prayers that he's okay today. I just love you so much!" She exclaimed.

I felt stunned. "Sarah, it's my privilege to pray for you. I love you, too."

I knew in that instant that by the grace of God our relationship was forever changed.

Jeanne L.

Orlando, FL