Today’s guest blogger is Marsha Hubler, author and director of the Montrose Christian Writers Conference.
For over 20 years, I had prayed for Joe, my stubborn, beer drinking, pool shooting father to become a follower of Jesus Christ. My mother had prayed for 30-plus years of marriage for the man she dearly loved who had no time for God and little time for her or me. At times Dad’s belligerence toward the things of God grew so hostile, his salvation seemed an impossible dream. Yet, our Christian family and friends prayed and waited.
Then around 1980, God’s “still, small voice” impressed upon mve to fast and pray every Saturday for my father.
“Fast? Me…fast?” I asked. “For how long?”
“You’ll know when to stop,” the answer came.
I had participated in our church’s occasional corporate fasts, usually skipping a meal or so. However, although I prayed regularly, I never felt a call to fast for anything until then. So I made the commitment to do so, knowing I’d still have to continue providing meals for my husband and five foster kids on those fasting days.
As Dad approached his 70th birthday, I knew the percentage of seniors making a commitment to follow Christ dropped lower and lower as they aged. With Dad on the top of my prayer list, I determined to fast every Friday after supper to Saturday’s evening meal. I took care not to proclaim to the world, I AM FASTING; no one outside of my family knew unless they asked.
I continued to fast and pray every week, except when circumstances I had no control over (sickness, etc.) intervened. After about a year, I suddenly felt a prompting to stop fasting, though I continued to pray for my father to come to faith. Another year or so passed with no change in Dad. In fact, he seemed to move farther away from God than ever before, which broke my heart.
Then in early February 1983, Aunt Ruth handed Dad a magazine article littered with Bible verses and a clear presentation of the Gospel. A few days later Mom drove an hour to hand me a letter from Dad in which he said he had read the article and prayed for Christ’s forgiveness and salvation. He also said he immediately dumped several cases of beer away, vowing never to touch alcohol again. The next Sunday, February 13, my parents came to church, and Dad went forward to profess his faith, which he did until his heavenly journey began on November 30, 1998.
Since then, I’ve never had the same prompting to fast, though I continue to pray through a list filled with the needs of those I love. I don’t know, of course, that my call to fast played a part in my father coming to faith. I know from Scripture that some things happen only by prayer and fasting (Matthew 17:21, KJV). I also know many others faithfully prayed for Dad.
Ultimately, only God knows, but I believe that I prayed and fasted—and even stopped fasting—in response to God’s leading, and my prayer was answered. And that is good enough for me.
