I don’t pray for trivial things. I figure God has enough on His hands, and He expects me to handle the everyday stuff. I pray for big things, life-changing things. And if I’ve learned anything in my walk with God, it’s this: when you ask Him to transform your life, He just might do it; and it might cost you more than you imagined.
I’ve prayed many dangerous prayers. I didn’t realize they were dangerous at the time, of course. But looking back, I see how each of those prayers set off a chain reaction in my life; blessings, yes, but blessings that came wrapped in struggle, sacrifice, and surrender.
Scholarship Prayers
As a high school student, I prayed for a scholarship to college. I didn’t see another way forward. I asked God to make a way, and He did. I got the scholarship. It launched me onto a path of academic and professional success that I couldn’t have dreamed of. But I paid a price. That scholarship took me away from home every summer. I missed years of family reunions, the steady rhythm of being close to my people, my church, my roots. It was lonely sometimes. But I dared not complain—I had asked, and God answered.
“Are You Sure, Baby?”
When I graduated from undergrad, I talked to God again. I told Him I wanted to go to medical school. I loved science. I loved people. And I had an insatiable curiosity about how I could make a difference in healthcare. I prayed. God listened. And in my spirit, I could almost hear Him gently ask, “Are you sure, baby?”
And I said, “Yes, Lord!”
Then came residency. Four grueling years of sleepless nights and emotional exhaustion. When I chose Obstetrics and Gynecology as my specialty, God didn’t hold back. He warned me in spirit, “That’s hard work, child.”
And I told Him, “I’m not afraid of hard work. Life’s not handing out free passes.”
He said, “Alright then. I got work for you.”
And oh, He did.
The Black Cloud
I became known for having what the nurses called a “black cloud.” If there was a worst-case scenario on Labor & Delivery: postpartum hemorrhage, shoulder dystocia, eclamptic seizures, ruptured ectopics, I was usually on call. My nights were wild. Chaos, blood, beeping monitors, emergency calls. Over and over, I found myself in rooms where medical knowledge alone wasn’t enough. I was leaning on the Great Physician. Silently praying while working fast. And over and over, He showed up.
Babies who should have died lived. Mothers who should have been permanently impaired walked out of the hospital whole. And my faith, alongside my clinical skill, was sharpened in those crucibles.
One night, a nurse asked me how I managed to stay so calm. I told her the truth:
“I prayed for this. God put me here for a reason. I’m not going to complain about an answered prayer.”
The Patience Test
Somewhere along the way, I prayed for patience. I didn’t mean to pray dangerously—but there I was. Suddenly, I was always in the slowest checkout line, the worst traffic. I got a PhD in waiting. And in the process, God slowly peeled away my attachment to control, speed, and expectation. He taught me to wait; not just in line, but in life.
I’ve come to love a line from one of my favorite hymns:
Consecrate me now
By the power of grace divine;
Let my soul look up with a steadfast hope,
Let my will be lost in Thine.
– Fanny Crosby, 1879
That’s a dangerous prayer. A beautiful one, but dangerous nonetheless. To lose your will in His will; that’s not poetic sentiment. That’s a sacrifice. It’s an act of total surrender.
Post-Practice Prayers
When I retired from active medical practice in 2024, I said I wanted to deepen my spiritual life. I thought I’d retreat into a quiet rhythm of prayer, meditation, and reflection. And to some extent, that happened. But faith isn’t deepened by ease. Faith gets forged in the fire.
In that year, I became a full-time caregiver. I took care of my mother in my home for the last year of her life, while my brother and sister-in-law cared for my father. After Mom died, I went back and forth to support them in the care of my father. My car became my prayer closet. I talked to God on the road, every mile a litany of grief and grace. My father passed away a little over a year later. And in between those losses, five other family members were called home.
On top of that, the physical toll of decades in medicine practice showed up in my body. Back pain. Fatigue. Letting go of old possessions, old identities, old expectations.
And yet, through all of this, I see how God was answering my prayer. He was deepening my spirit. Pruning me. Teaching me non-attachment. Training me to live by eternal things, not transient ones.
God Answers Dangerous Prayers
So yes, I’ve prayed dangerous prayers. And God has answered them all.
I’m not afraid of them like I used to be. I understand now: when I ask Him to use me, He takes that seriously. And I’m okay with that. I’m no good to anyone if I’m not useful to God.
His will is hard sometimes. It’s hair-raising. It’s exhausting. But it is also exhilarating to be amid His work; a witness to His miracles. It breaks you open in ways you didn’t expect. It enlarges your soul in ways you can’t imagine.
And honestly? I wouldn’t change a thing.
God’s plans have always been better than mine.