Prayers for Mom
In 1980—when I was thirty-two and my mother, Rose, was sixty-two—my parents were living in Michigan. Three years earlier, after much prayer, Sue and I had moved to the Boston area with our two-year-old daughter so I could begin a new career. By 1980, we had two young Korean daughters: Heidi, age five, and Dena, age two.
One crisp New England autumn morning, I received a call from my father. His voice was soft and faltering: “Freddy, I want you to know that Mom was experiencing chest pains and dizziness yesterday, so I took her to the hospital. She was admitted for testing. The results showed significant arterial blockages, and she has now been slated for surgery as soon as possible.”
The news shook us. We felt helpless being so far away, and the reality of our parents’ mortality hit hard. I was overwhelmed by thoughts of all the things I hadn’t told my mom—how deeply I loved her and how her wisdom and faith had influenced my life, especially through our countless kitchen-table talks.
The day of the surgery, my father called again. “Freddy, you need to know the truth. The doctor said there are significant risks for someone with such major blockages.”
“Okay,” I replied, rattled and anxious. All I could do was cling to my faith that God’s will would prevail.
“Okay, then,” Dad said. “I’m going to put your mother on.”
I struggled to keep my composure as I spoke to her. I expressed my love and appreciation, and then added, “I’ll be praying for you, Mom. After all, miracles happen and all things are possible for those who believe and trust in God.” She responded with loving words of pride and encouragement, praising my family and professional journey. I muffled my sobs as we said what could have been a final goodbye.
Though we didn’t often pray together as a family, this was a moment for divine intervention. That morning, before heading into the shopping mall in Walpole, Massachusetts, Sue, Heidi, Dena, and I prayed together in the car. It was a short but heartfelt prayer—for successful surgery and complete healing. Despite our fears, we trusted in God’s plan.
Later that day, my father called again. “You’re not going to believe this, Freddy,” he said, astonished. “The doctors didn’t even believe it. They performed the exploratory surgery and found clean arteries! As clean and clear as a newborn baby’s!” He shared what the surgeon had said: no matter how successful surgery might have been, the arteries couldn’t have been restored to this condition—yet it had happened before any surgery. “Her surgeon said it had to be the result of divine intervention!”
We were overwhelmed with gratitude. Mom never required heart surgery. Despite her poor family health history, she lived to be eighty-three, passing peacefully in her sleep in April 2001.
Following her miraculous healing, we shared many more years, hugs, and kitchen-table chats. Our faith grew deeper, and it became natural to thank God more openly and often—for the miracle we witnessed and for giving us over two more decades with mom.