In June, we drove to Louisiana for a fundraiser in Lake Charles. Pulling a trailer loaded down with props, sound equipment and my children’s products, we turned onto their street out in the middle of the country. When we did, the trailer started to slip then got stuck in the mud. Michael put our car into forward gear then into reverse, several times--it didn’t budge. We all got out of the car, and Michael tried to push it--to no avail. We walked to Sarah’s house to see if Terry could come help Michael push the trailer, and when they finally released it from the mud, they were dirty and tired. Michael was running late to the show and was stressed when he arrived. Feeling frazzled afterwards, he forgot his computer and had to drive thirty minutes there and back to get it. After he got it, he had to make calls to book more shows.
I was worried about him. It wasn’t just this episode; it was that this was the norm for us. He seemed tired and worn out. All of the traveling, booking, calling, performing—it was all on his shoulders, and I could tell it was weighing on him. I called a friend the next morning.
“I’m worried about him. This is a lot on his shoulders.”
“You know, I’ve been thinking and praying for you guys, too,” she paused, “Rachel, I have no idea how y’all are going to keep up at this rate.”
“Yeah,” I paused, “that’s what I’m worried about.”
After we hung up, I sat down at the barstool at Sarah’s house. I opened my Bible and skimmed a few pages. Then, I bowed my head.
“God,” I said, “You know, I’m worried about Michael. He has so much on him, and I don’t know how he’ll ever keep up.”
Then I sat there in silence.
With my eyes still closed I envisioned Michael, treading water.
“Yes, God, that’s Michael. He’s treading water.”
With my eyes still closed, I saw him, in my mind, treading.
Then, a raft came in.
While I was thinking about Michael treading water, a raft came in a scooped him up. He was at ease, and he was happy. That was the vision in my mind--a raft that made the treading cease.
“Lord,” I prayed, “Send the raft. You know what it is. I ask you to send it, whatever that may be.”
It was such a clear picture to me. So, I asked my mom and my friend, Eppie, in Texas to also pray. I told them I didn’t know what it was; I just knew God needed to send it.
“Please pray for God to send a raft,” I asked them.
I would continue to pray this prayer, myself, for sixteen months. Never having a clue what it was or how it would arrive. Just trusting that it would.