Prayer and Hope as a Lifeline

It’s one of my first “technicolor” memories. Prior to that moment, my memories are a bit of a black-and-white haze. When I stepped into Saint John the Baptist Catholic Church in Columbus, Ohio, it was like I was Dorothy arriving at the Yellow Brick Road in The Wizard of Oz. With its strings of lights forming halos above the heads of statues, this church seemed to be a Christmas Wonderland. I was entranced. I followed my mother to a pew and imitated her prayerful posture. In that moment, I felt so close to God — closer than Dorothy ever got to the Wizard.

God as Provider 

Prayer was a constant component of my childhood. It was the lifeline that gave our family hope, especially in the midst of financial struggles. For reasons I did not know at the time, my beloved father was chronically unemployed. As an adult, I have come to the realization that my Daddy was deeply scarred during his time as a combatant in a long-ago war. He suffered from what is now described as post-traumatic stress syndrome. While the prayers of my mother, sister, and me did not always result in a job for my father, I now believe they helped him to cope with the cross that brought him so much emotional pain. 

My lasting memory of my mother is of her fingering azure rosary beads in her hands. She prayed the Rosary constantly, and she taught the prayers to me, forming the foundation of my early prayer life. I often prayed my Rosary on Thursday nights—the night before my father’s pay day. As an accountant, he was in charge of his employer’s payroll, and, when he was working for a non-profit, making payroll was a challenging task. But, come Friday, the miracle would happen, and — at least while he was working — he got paid.  

The experience taught me that God was my ultimate provider. I knew my father was limited in what he could do; I had to rely on a Higher Power to help my family weather the financial storms.  

A Test of Faith 

The biggest test of my faith came some years later, when I was in college. It was the 3rd of July, and I had been out with my friends dancing at a nightclub. I was looking forward to the next day, when my family and I were planning to attend a neighborhood 4th of July parade in the morning and a fireworks display in the evening.  

When my friend drove me home from the club, I was startled to see our family car, dented and damaged, in the front yard. When I went inside the house, my younger sister informed me that my parents had experienced a serious car crash. A drunk driver had careened into the back of their automobile, sending my mother to the hospital. My father seemed a bit dazed from the crash, and it was difficult to communicate with him.  

I recall sitting in the basement of our house, again, wondering how we would survive. By this time, my mother was the primary breadwinner in the household. She was also our caregiver and confidant, and the house seemed lifeless without her. I was relieved that she had survived the incident, but she was not unscathed. She had suffered a broken pelvis and cheekbone and had to stay in the hospital a few days to recover.  

A Simple Prayer  

My prayer was a simple entreaty to God: “Help!” I couldn’t settle my mind enough to formulate a more complicated prayer — not that I had to. God heard my cry for help and responded lovingly in the days and weeks that followed. 

When my mother returned home, she had to use a wheelchair to get around. We set up a makeshift bed downstairs, since there was no way she could climb up to her upstairs bedroom. I began taking on more responsibilities at home, something I really should have done long before the crash.  

While she was unable to return to work for some months, she gained strength every day. Physical therapy enabled her to graduate from the wheelchair to a walker to a cane. But something else occurred, which was even more miraculous. 

Before the crash, my mother would attend Sunday Mass, but did not receive holy Communion. She said she refrained because my father did not receive it. His reason? He had been chewed out by a priest for allegedly chewing the Sacred Host when he was a child (he denied it).  

However, the crash gave my mother a change of heart, and she became a regular communicant again. It was the power of prayer that brought her back in communion with Jesus, and I will be eternally grateful for that and the hope that lies in Him.           

For the Jubilee of Hope, the Catholic Mom contributors reflect on prayer as a source of hope in their lives.

Copyright 2025 Maria V. Gallagher
Images: Holy Cross Family Ministries