In the Presence of My Enemies

by Gracia Burnham

There was one other gathering I knew I wanted to attend: the 6 A.M. prayer meeting on Monday morning. These men had been crawling out of bed and driving down to the church six mornings a week for more than a year now, just to intercede for Martin and me. I had to join them and say thank you. I set the alarm for 5 A.M. Because I had to carefully consider every move I made as I hobbled around on crutches, everything took longer. Just getting past my two sleeping sons on the floor was tricky. I was dressed and presentable a little while after 5:30. I made my way into the living room and gently eased down onto the couch. When Paul came out, he helped me outside and aided me as I hoisted myself up into the van. My dad joined us from next door, where they were staying. At the church, I was wheeled in through the side door into the room where the men, Ralph, David, Pastor Robert, Les, and Mike, were already gathered around the long white table. I smelled coffee. They parked me conveniently at the end of the table. So this was how it had been every single morning. These dear friends had held us up before God in prayer—and I knew that all over America and the world, for that matter, pockets of other people, prayer groups, and families had also been meeting to pray for us. With tears in my eyes and a quiver in my chin, I began to speak. “Thank you so much for this act of love, which you’ve done over and over again for Martin and me. You got me home.”