Confessions of a Pastor’s Wife: Prayer Works

Tonight, while laying in bed watching Starman, my husband turns to me and says, “I’ll give you $200 if you can make my headache go away.” Surrounded by (predominately) young men on a daily basis, my mind naturally goes to an impure place. I check myself for a penis, but discover I am still a girl. Oh thank God!

“Doesn’t that constitute me being a prostitute?!” He doesn’t find me nearly as clever as I think I am. So I began to rub my hand through his hair as to not make him think I’m “laying hands on him.” We’ve never been that couple. But I was, in fact, laying hands on him. And I was praying.

My prayer went something like this:

God, please heal Michael from his headache. 1) Because YES! I want the money, 2) because I am tired of hearing about the headache. It’s been two straight days, and 3) because I love him and don’t want him to be in pain.

Amen.

I fell asleep with my hand on his forehead. He woke me up to tell me to go to bed and that his headache was mostly gone. . . So, I’m thinking $100? $150?