HERE ARE ABSOLUTES IN THIS WORLD. One of these is that there is evil. Another is that there is God. And another is that prayer works-and beyond that, prayer is a potent power.

Praying constantly has become a habit. Conversing with my Father on everything from raindrops to remembering appointments is a delight.

Since my days in preschool when I asked God to help me learn how to pour water from a pitcher into a cup, I have prayed many prayers. Some have been organized "pulpit" prayers, others simply sentences. And occasionally I've dropped off to sleep rambling phrases that only God could understand.

When I talk to people about whether God exists or not, one thing I mention is prayer as proof that He exists and cares. I tell them that I pray and that Somebody is answering my prayers; and doesn't it make perfect sense that a Creator-God would look after His children, especially when they ask for His intervention? Then I share some experiences I've had with prayer.

In a 2001 editorial entitled "Potent Power" (Aug. 9) I mention one occasion in which I believe God answered prayer in an amazing way. In this article I include the example I used there and two others that are part of my "prayer proof" collection.

But before I go any further with my narratives, I must mention that what I share here falls on the "lighter side" of prayer, so to speak. I have grieved and suffered when prayers weren't answered with the miracles I longed for-as many who are reading this can relate to, no doubt. But this article does not address that angle, nor the many intricacies of prayer, grace, and faith-and why some answers to prayer do not have the outcomes we hope for. It does, however, show a bit of God's goodness given to me, one of His beloved daughters, in situations that range from silly to amazing.

Stalled and Unstalled
When I was 8, I spent a wonderful Sunday with my friend Rikki. We raced down the streets on our roller skates, collected stray golf balls from the course beyond the woods behind her house, and dreamed of building a fort. As the earth and sun exchanged orange-purple good-night kisses, I collected my things so that Rikki's mom could drive me home. It had been such a perfect day that I didn't want it to end, and as we pulled out on the first of two main roads we'd traverse before getting to my neighborhood, I childishly prayed: "Lord, please do something. I don't want to go home. I want to stay with my friend and her family."

An amazing thing happened. The car stalled, and we had to pull onto the shoulder. I felt my face turn red, and I tried to look innocent, sure that God had answered my prayer. I was elated for a few seconds as Rikki's mom tried-and failed-to start the car. Then I thought about it. I felt very bad and realized how selfish my request had been. And yet, I mused, God had granted it!

The next prayer I offered was: "I'm sorry, God; would You please make Mrs. Stenbakken's car work? I'm really sorry. I don't want her to be upset and have to worry about fixing the car, paying extra money they don't have. I've changed my mind; I want to go home. Please make the car start." The next time she turned the key, the car roared to life.

At the Darkest Part
At 24 I was living in a townhouse with two other young women. I decided to buy a television for my room, and after grunting, pushing, and pulling, I finally fit the TV (minus the box) into my small two-door car. It was late, about 10:00 p.m., and store closing time. I pulled away from the curb and proceeded out of the Sears parking lot onto a very dark road that would connect me to Route 29, a major highway. I remember noting that it was unusually dark-there was no moon that night, and several highway lights were burned out along the corridor.

I was almost home when I decided to stop at my bank's ATM machine.
I pulled into the bank and reached for my wallet. It was gone! I searched the entire car with dread trampling my guts. I remembered having it as I struggled with the TV. I remembered placing it on the roof of the car as I broke down the box. Then I remembered it no more.

I raced back to Sears chanting this prayer: "Oh, God, please help me find my wallet." I knew this was improbable. After all, the store had just closed, and someone could have easily picked it up on their way out. Or I could have lost it in the darknesss as I sped down the access road. I drove to the curb where I had loaded my purchase and moved slowly from there, tracking the exact way I'd driven just 15 minutes earlier. "Oh, God, please help me find my wallet," I continued.

Suddenly, at the darkest part of the roadway, where the parking lot merged into the street, I slammed on my brakes. And without a doubt, I knew
I had just seen my wallet directly in front of my vehicle. I also knew that I had stopped right on top of it. I backed up a few feet, jumped out of the car, bent down, and retrieved my thin, slightly-larger-than-a-business-card black wallet.

Hit and Roll
The third instance happened in the spring of 2001. It was a Friday afternoon, about 5:00 p.m., and I was traveling down a four-lane road with my family. My brother was driving in the left lane when a white early-nineties Chevrolet Cavalier pulled onto the road from a car wash on the right. The person pulled out recklessly, way into the left lane. Gently applying the brakes (since the car was pretty far ahead of us), my brother signaled and changed to the right lane. We were driving just under the 45-mile-per-hour speed limit and had caught up to the slower-driving Chevy.

All of a sudden the person driving the other car attempted to change lanes as if they were making a right turn (a very jerky and abrupt turn), without signaling. Immediately our horn sounded, and brakes and tires squealed, but the person still rammed us at about 35 miles per hour. There was no shoulder on this road, so when the car hit us, we bumped the curb very hard and went up on two wheels. We traveled, scraping along, at a more than 90-degree angle (I had a close look at the grass along the side) for about 50 feet and almost flipped over. Just before we would have flipped I thought, Oh, God, please, no. At that moment my brother jerked the wheel to the left, and we slammed back onto the road.

The 1986 Honda Accord was totaled-all four sides sustained damage. But the three of us were ok, suffering only sore shoulders and hips. The Chevy had minimal damage, and its driver was unhurt.

After the experience, we went back and looked at the road. We discovered that in eight more feet we would have run out of curb and into a big road sign. At the time, it felt like a Six Flags amusement park ride. I knew, however, that if we had tipped all the way over, we'd have been very seriously hurt.

I don't know why God answers some prayers with a yes and some with a no. I see only that in my personal life God has given me answered prayer as my major witnessing tool. Simple requests, ineloquently spoken, yet graciously answered.

Any way I look at it, prayer is potent. A special power that God has given me to share with Him-and share with others.

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Kimberly Luste Maran is an assistant editor of the Adventist Review.