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I can't begin to count the number of times that prayer has played an important part in my life. As often as God has answered my prayers, I realize it's important to pray for others, too. So when my church, Maranatha Assembly of God, started a Tuesday night prayer service, I became a regular participant.

The pastor sometimes would begin with a short devotion, and then we'd sing a couple of praise choruses before getting down to serious conversations with God. From the beginning, we knew we were there to pray.

During the first few months, attendance was sparse. Those who came gave their prayer requests and there'd still be plenty of time to bring them to the Lord. However, as prayers were answered, more people joined and the number of requests multiplied. It took most of the service to hear all the requests.

The pastor solved the problem with a sign-in sheet in the foyer. Now when we arrive for the service, we write down our prayer requests on this sheet. During our praise time, the pastor makes a copy of these requests for each person. With list in hand, we find a quiet place to pray individually.

Memories mixed with prayer
One Tuesday early in 1997, attendance was unusually low and our prayer list was short. I prayed for each need listed. I prayed for the church, our community, our state, and our country. Then I prayed over the list again.

I looked at my watch thinking the hour ought to be up. I still have 15 minutes left! There has to be something more I can pray about, I thought. As determined as I was to continue praying, my mind was blank. So I began reflecting on my personal life and praising God for all the blessings he had sent my way.

Then my son came to mind. I had not seen Teddy for 27 years. When he was less than a year old, his mother and I had divorced, and she moved with Teddy out of state. I smiled to myself as I thought back to those months with my firstborn son. I would get off the bus from work and could hear him crying half a block away. As soon as I walked into his room, his cries turned into laughter.

After the divorce, I made an effort to keep in touch, but my first letters were returned unopened. Later they were marked, "Addressee moved, left no forwarding address." I had no idea where either Teddy or his mother lived.

When Teddy was about five, I learned through an attorney that my ex-wife had remarried and her new husband wanted to adopt my son. I agonized over my decision.

The attorney wouldn't disclose Teddy's whereabouts unless I chose to seek custodial rights. But a custody battle might forfeit any chance for Teddy to enjoy a stable life. I reasoned: Teddy doesn't know me. Would it really be fair to deny him a father to satisfy my own need to see him? Would my selfishness cause more emotional damage?

I loved Teddy and missed him terribly, but I decided I couldn't interfere with a chance for happiness in his life. I waived my rights, hoping it was the best thing to do for my son.

"Please let me know my son"
Now, years later, I was kneeling before God running these things through my mind again. As I began praying, I didn't lament over my heartache. I didn't beg or plead with God to restore my son to me.

I simply asked prayerfully, "Lord, my son is a grown man now. He is capable of making his own decisions, and there isn't much I could do to interfere with his life. I love him and miss him. Please just let me know what kind of a man Teddy has turned out to be. Anything more than that I leave in your hands. In fact, Lord, I don't even know where to start looking for him, so I am truly leaving it all up to you. Please let me know my son. Amen."

	Teddy's letter was postmarked Wednesday, the day after my Tuesday night prayer. This wasn't a coincidence.

As I left that prayer service, the Lord gave me peace from the words of Malachi 4:6—"He will turn the hearts of the fathers to their children, and the hearts of the children to their fathers."

The rest of the week I went about my normal routine and forgot about my prayer. But God hadn't forgotten.

The Saturday after the prayer meeting, I ran into our pastor at the post office. After I collected my mail from my box, we started to chat. As I scanned through my mail, a letter caught my eye.

I couldn't place the name or the return address. As the pastor commented on Sunday's church activities, I started reading the mysterious letter.

"Are you okay?" he asked me. Tears were rolling down my face. I couldn't speak; I handed him the letter I had just read—from Teddy.

Teddy explained that he had decided to search the Internet for me. This letter was one of 47 letters that my son had written to Richard Whetstones all over the country. Then I noticed the postmark: it was dated Wednesday, the day after my Tuesday night prayer. This wasn't a coincidence. This was a direct answer to my prayer.

When I told my wife Rose, she was excited because she had encouraged me to try to find Teddy. Since I hadn't mentioned my Tuesday night prayer to her, she was even more thrilled when she learned the whole story.

A reunion for a reason
I decided to call Teddy that day, but I was nervous as I dialed the phone number in Amarillo, Texas. When he answered the phone, I said I had received the letter and I was his father. (I later learned that Teddy thought the call might be a prank.) We agreed to pursue the relationship further.

So I sat down and wrote him back, enclosing a photo I had of him—a color snapshot taken by a family friend at Teddy's christening. In the photo, Teddy was in his mother's arms while my dad and I stood proudly beside them.

In Teddy's return letter, he enclosed the exact same photo—the only family photo he had! That was the confirmation we both needed. I had found my son—or rather, he found me.

When I told my sister Donna about Teddy, she began corresponding with him, secretly arranging a person-to-person reunion for the two of us at her wedding in May 1997. Teddy and I had time to slip away for breakfast, then walked on the Clearwater beach, talking the whole time.

Teddy had a lot of questions. He had had suspicions about being adopted early on, but didn't learn the truth until he was 15 years old. His mother hadn't mentioned me at all; I was thankful she hadn't painted me as a terrible person. Having heard all kinds of horror stories about reunions that turned bad, once again God remained faithful.

In October 1997, Teddy and his family—wife Dana, and their children Hayden and Jorden visited Rose and me in Florida. Teddy's wife couldn't get over how similar Teddy and I were—in looks, mannerisms, speech, and ideals—even though we lived completely separate lives.

I had not been a Christian when Teddy was born. But in 1980, I surrendered my life to Christ. When Rose and I were married in 1985, we committed ourselves to making God the center of our marriage and home.

During Teddy's visit, he must have sensed something. Before he left, he said, "When I get home, I need to get my family to church." Teddy has kept that promise, and I now can specifically pray for each of his family by name that God will work in their hearts and lives.

My Tuesday night prayer wasn't the first or the last prayer that God has answered in my life. But it is one of the most wonderful and satisfying blessings he has ever given me. All I did was simply ask, trusting for his answer.

A Christian Reader original article.

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