Until Daniel

His speech was slurred, and he had a scar down the back middle of his head.

And he sat in front of me in 10th grade computer class.

If you polled my graduating class today and mentioned his name, I'm certain only a few people would recognize it.

His line on the roll said Daniel O'Neal.

His medical chart must have been a little more descriptive. Probably: 15-year-old male. Malignant brain tumor.

Daniel was a high schooler and a brain tumor patient, but few people in school knew about the second part. While the rest of us struggled with algebra, Daniel secretly waged war against cancer.

Algebra never sounded so good.

Maybe I was drawn to Daniel because Mom had been diagnosed with brain cancer the previous year, and the Lord had already begun to exercise that particular sympathy bone in me. Or maybe it was just the Lord's sovereign will that my life come in contact with his. Whatever the case, I was drawn to him, and when I think of him now, I think of two things: the first time I remember the Lord answering prayer, and Mom.

It might take a couple of posts, but I'll explain.

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I finished my typing exercise, flipped around in my chair, and began thumbing through my new yearbook, waiting for the bell to ring. The Millbrook High School yearbooks were works of art -- huge and hard bound, with pages so new they stuck together and that fresh-off-the-print smell that was synonymous with the end of the school year.

Everyone got a yearbook. They weren't cheap, but still, I didn't have one friend who didn't buy one.

Well, until Daniel.

He saw me flipping through the pages and asked if he could look.

"Didn't you get one?"  I asked him.

"No, we don't have the money for that."

"Do you want one?"

"Yeah, of course."

Sympathy bone engaged.

I should note how timid I was in high school. I was just beginning to walk with the Lord, so I had moments of courage, but I was naturally shy, fearful, and easily intimidated.

Right behind cheerleaders, I envied the high school yearbook staff. They worked all year on this one highly anticipated product. They had one shot to make it good. I envied those people who could handle that pressure. And to top it off, Mrs. Taylor, the yearbook teacher, had quite a reputation. She was stern and she picked favorites.

I kept my distance.

Until Daniel gave me a reason to get close.

After that conversation with him in computer class, I remember asking the Lord to help me find a yearbook for Daniel. I knew it would probably mean talking to Mrs. Taylor, and, no surprise, she intimidated me.

At the sound of the final bell the next day, I walked to Mrs. Taylor's classroom and stepped inside. She was moving around the room, cleaning up, and talking over her shoulder to a football player member of the yearbook staff. She barely noticed me walk in.

I didn't waste any time. The moment I caught her gaze, I laid it out there, like dropping a heavy piece of luggage:

"Mrs. Taylor, I was wondering if you had an extra yearbook we could give to Daniel O'Neal. Do you know him?'

"What happened to his? Didn't he buy one?"

"No. He didn't buy one, but he wants one."

"I'm sorry, but we've made the final orders on those books. I don't have any extras."

"Okay, that's okay."

I started to walk out, disappointment overtaking my courage. Lord, don't you want Daniel to have a yearbook? How are we going to get him one? You want me to give him mine? Surely You don't want me to do that?

Lost in the silent conversation inside my head, I almost missed what happened next.

I realized Mrs. Taylor was still talking.

I turned back around.

"I do have this one book that I need to return because it's damaged. You want this one? Go, give this one to Daniel."

The joy of answered prayer sprung up in me like a bubbling fountain. I remember it because it was the first time I'd really felt it. The Lord came through!

"Oh, yes, that'll be fine. Thank you so much." I tried to temper the excitement in my voice for fear she'd think I was weird.

The book was "damaged" on one corner. Same thing would have happened after two days inside a book bag.

The next day, I found Daniel and gave him the book.

"This is for me?" he asked.

"Yep. It's yours." The bubbling fountain inside of me was still brimming over.

I got on the bus that day and smiled all the way home.

Daniel may have gotten a yearbook, but I got more than that.

Before the yearbook incident, I knew God answered prayer. I knew it from His Word and from stories other people told. But I didn't know it personally.

Not until Daniel did I know it for myself.

God answers prayer.

Thanks to Daniel for the invaluable lesson.