When Prayer Brings Healing: A Child's Story About Anger, Love, and the Power of Turning to God

Throughout childhood, my father and his family often hunted, gathered and trapped. It was a way of life, a means of providing, so I grew up seeing animals both big and small that had been caught for food. Death wasn’t unfamiliar and not something that I gave much thought to. One day, I learned something far deeper than what life and death looked like—I learned what it meant to pray through pain.

I have numerous memories before my school years of staying home and longing to go where the adults or my older sister went during the days. One morning, my father and his uncle Jim were heading out to the country to check on snares they had set out previously. They decided to bring me and my uncle’s girlfriend, Geraldine, along. I often missed my father when he was away from home on the land and had never been on such an excursion before, so I was eager to be included. I vividly remember the car ride, excitedly chatting away with Geraldine as she smacked on her gum and her wild red hair flew around in the wind.

When we arrived at our destination, the adults decided we should split into two groups to cover more ground. My father went with uncle Jim and I continued my excited chatter with Geraldine while we headed down a different path. As we walked through the countryside, Geraldine and I came upon a rabbit caught in a snare. To my surprise, it was still alive. It struggled a bit when it heard us, but it seemed to have the sense to stay still and not cause the wire around its neck to cause further harm. I don’t know why, but I looked into the rabbit's eyes and sensed a strong, sudden urge that this one rabbit needed to be let go. I told her, almost pleadingly, “We can cut the wire and let it go.” But she didn’t listen. She picked up a rifle she was carrying and struck the rabbit's head.

I screamed—not only from the shock of what I saw but because Geraldine quickly dismissed my emotional pleas to spare this one rabbit. I was frustrated that I felt I had limited words to express what I felt and hurt that it seemed not to matter. My father and uncle Jim came running to where we were standing. Uncle Jim scolded Geraldine, but not for hurting the animal—for foolishly using a rifle to strike the animal and for getting blood on the pelt. My heart sank even deeper.

When we reached the truck, there were a few rabbits already lying in the back. Uncle Jim looked at the misery written all over my face and misread what I was actually upset about. He quickly said, “Oh, don't worry about them, they’re only sleeping.” A statement that all the adults echoed as if to comfort me. But I knew the truth. And I burned inside—angry at the lie, hurt by the cruelty, and unsure what to do with all of it.

A Lesson In Love

When my grandfather came to visit some time later, I told him what had happened. In my young mind, I thought he would likely scold the adults. For me, my grandfather was the 'highest authority' in the land and I thought that getting the adults "in trouble" would somehow bring justice for the rabbit. If anything, I thought it would make me feel better.

My grandfather sat and listened to me patiently. He didn't interrupt—he gave me time to articulate what I felt with my limited childlike vocabulary. When I finished telling him my version of events, he took my hand and led me outside to a tree in our yard where we often prayed. From his pocket, he took a small pinch of tobacco and placed it in my little hand. He said softly, “I don't think Creator can bring the rabbit back. But we can talk to Creator about it.”

We knelt together as he told me, “You can tell Creator what happened and tell Him how you it made you feel. And maybe you can ask Creator if He can tell the rabbit how you're sorry about what happened.” So I gripped on to the tobacco with my little fist and I poured out my heart—every feeling I was holding on to and let go of every tear as my grandfather held me. I told God how I was sad that I didn't have the words to save the rabbit and wanted the rabbit to know that I was sorry about how it was treated. When I was done, my grandfather wiped the tears from my face and said, “You know, I believe God gave this rabbit your message.”

And just like that, I was able to let go of my anger and pain.

To this day, this story brings tears to my eyes as I think about that little rabbit, but also the impact my grandfather's actions had over my lifetime. My grandfather didn’t tell me to hide my feelings. He didn’t tell me to pretend everything was okay. He simply showed me what to do when we are hurt, angry, or confused: we bring it to God.

God Can Handle The Truth

There is a kind of sacred honesty in prayer that many of us forget. Sometimes we think we must be calm, composed, or even polite when we talk to God. But Scripture shows that some of the greatest prayers were cries—honest, raw, emotional, and filled with pain.

• Psalm 62:8 — “Pour out your heart before Him; God is a refuge for us.”

• Psalm 142:2 — “I pour out my complaint before Him; I tell my trouble before Him.”

• Philippians 4:6–7 — “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

When we bring our anger and grief to God instead of making it into gossip or looking to complain to others, we create room for His peace to enter. My grandfather modeled this perfectly. He didn’t take sides or fuel my anger; he redirected it into prayer—into a conversation with the One who truly hears and can heal us.

Blessed Are the Peacemakers

Jesus said, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God” (Matthew 5:9).

Being a peacemaker doesn’t mean ignoring injustice or pretending actions do not hurt. It means we seek healing rather than division, restoration rather than revenge.

When others come to us upset with stories that are heavy or painful our first instinct might be to react—to judge, to pass along what we’ve heard, or to take sides. But Scripture calls us to something higher:

“If someone is caught in a sin, you who live by the Spirit should restore that person gently... Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.”— Galatians 6:1–2

While the emotions I felt were not sinful, the actions resulting from unforgiveness can be. To restore gently is to listen without adding fire to the flame. To carry burdens is to pray with and for one another—not to gossip or condemn.

My grandfather didn’t need to correct my father or uncle Jim that day. In my childlike nature, I thought I would find peace in getting the adults in trouble. With my adult perspective, I see that how my grandfather had provided a lesson far greater—that love can hold truth without hate. His act of quiet faith turned a painful moment into a lifelong lesson in how to pray, how to forgive, and how to find peace even when we do not understand.

That day by the tree, he showed me what it means to be a bridge—to bring human pain into God’s presence and trust Him to do the healing work.

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”— Psalm 34:18

When we choose prayer over gossip, compassion over outrage, we become instruments of peace. And peace, after all, is what every hurting heart—and every frightened child—truly longs for.

Loving Father,

When we are angry or hurt, remind us to turn to You first.

Help us to listen more than we speak, to pray more than we judge, and to love even those we do not understand.

Teach us to be peacemakers—to bring healing where there is pain, and to trust that You hear every cry, even the cries of our hearts.

In Jesus’ name, Amen.