He was the most beautiful baby in the hospital nursery. The nurses assured us this was so, and it was certainly my objective grandmotherly opinion. Peter Morgan Gault, third child of my daughter, entered this world on March 4th with a plump healthy body, a full head of blond hair, and an expression that quickly changed from outrage to peaceful sleepiness. I loved him at first sight.

Kristin had invited me to be present at the birth and to help out afterwards with Peter’s older brother and sister, five and two years old. It was a good few weeks, and we all enjoyed watching Peter grow. He began smiling and sleeping through the night at one month and gave every indication of being an “easy baby.”

It wasn’t until Peter’s second month that Kristin called us to express the concern she and her husband Jon were beginning to feel. Peter had stopped smiling and didn’t seem to be responding to either visual or aural stimuli. He resisted interaction with people, turning his head to the side to avoid face-to-face contact, and he ignored the noisy antics of his siblings. One day five-year-old Reilly asked his mom, “Why doesn’t Peter like me?”

The fear was contagious, and Peter’s condition immediately dominated my thoughts and feelings. Hal and I decided to literally go to war in prayer.

Concurrent with becoming aware of Peter’s problems, I was reading a book by Gregory Boyd entitled, Satan and the Problem of Evil, an academic and biblical exploration of suffering. Weary of the popular Christian literature on spiritual warfare, I had been looking for a solid biblical approach, and this book met that need. I was reading it partly as background for a course I teach on Christian spirituality, and partly out of my own search for understanding. (This book follows Boyd’s God at War: The Bible and Spiritual Conflict, which I have since read. Both books are available through InterVarsity Press.)

Boyd’s thesis is that a warfare worldview permeates both the Old and New Testaments. He does not suggest warfare prayers or exorcisms as cure-alls to suffering and injustice, but he carefully lays a biblical foundation for an open universe where, although the final victory of God, through the crucifixion, is certain, events in the meantime (which can literally be a mean time) are not pre-determined. God created people and even heavenly beings with the freedom to choose to love and follow him, but freedom involves risk, and risk opens the door to all sorts of evil and suffering. Present reality is a battlefield, with the church as God’s army. Boyd encourages us not to passively accept the effects of evil (a traditional Christian response since Augustine) but to learn how to partner with God in overcoming. This is an inadequately brief explanation of a lengthy argument.

The chapter on intercession is one of the best on the subject I’ve read. Boyd argues that although the effects of evil and the activity of the evil one permeate the world, God is still sovereign, able and ready to intervene. Miracles happen. Healing occurs. And the usual avenue is the prayers of God’s people. Boyd recognizes the mystery of human suffering, with all the multiple causes and effects. He does not present a simplistic name-it-and-claim-it formula. But he shows how prayer is one of the variables that enter into the complexity of tragic situations to help determine the outcome. Prayer makes a difference and is a key factor in how we work together with a loving, good and merciful God to accomplish his purposes in people and nations.

The insights gained from our reading gave Hal and me the courage to go to war on Peter’s behalf. It was not an easy task. I’ve discovered that praying for family members who are suffering can be harder than any other type of prayer, probably because I’m so emotionally involved.

I spent an agonizing week wrestling with God in prayer. Even while I was trying to pray in faith, worse-case scenarios swam through my mind, especially at night. We wanted to look realistically at the possibilities, as well as pray, and we wondered about partial blindness, deafness or autism, envisioning what we would do if any of these should prove to be the case. Kristin’s pediatrician encouraged her to be patient and see a specialist in a couple of months, should the symptoms continue. The thought of waiting two months was intolerable and we began to consider other options.

Hal had the insight that we were to pray in two specific ways: 1) for the normal developmental processes to kick in, or 2), in case of genetic defects, that God would override genetics and heal Peter. So I cried out, prayed, pled with God—for one week. We also enlisted the prayer support of a small group of trusted friends.

One morning, after a particularly hard night, God’s peace enveloped me. I again felt the presence of a sovereign, loving and all-powerful Lord. I knew Peter was in his hands, and I rested from my wrestling.

That evening Kristin called, and her voice sounded happy. Peter had started smiling again, and that day they had enjoyed several periods of sweet mother-son “conversations.” Over the next few days he began responding more to sight and sound. He finally smiled at Reilly. Developmental growth has continued since that day.

The sudden change seems like a break-through, and we are thanking God for answering prayer. But questions come: Would this have happened anyway? Did Peter have some kind of virus that just ran its course? Or is this just his unique developmental schedule? What role did prayer play in all of this? I don’t know.

Yet I’m encouraged. I feel drawn to deepen my commitment to intercessory prayer, a commitment that is taking me beyond family, friends and local congregation to pray for Iraq and China. (Is this faith or presumption?) I also sense that this does not exclude my responsibility to actions of service and compassion. In fact, I expect the two—prayer and action—will be increasingly intertwined.

Our family is recognizing that the task of praying for Peter is not finished. Different reactions cause us to continue to wonder about his eyesight. And although we have periods of face-to-face interaction, at times he still refuses eye contact, turning his head to the side. Why? The appointment with the specialist is still two months off, when he will be at a better age for the tests.

I debated whether or not to post this article, as we are still in the middle of whatever is happening. The outcome is uncertain. I don’t always feel like I know what I’m doing.

Even so—tomorrow morning I will wake up early, get out of bed, fix my cup of coffee, go to my favorite chair, turn it to face the rising sun—and I will pray for Peter.