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The day after Thanksgiving 1996, I lingered at Wydell's oak table. As sun filtered into my twin's immaculate Louisiana kitchen, my niece Sandy and I set out the tickets we'd soon use to fly back to our homes in Florida. Then we settled back to savor every last minute with Wydell. We'd enjoyed one of our best visits ever, but my sister's next words suddenly changed everything.

"Next week I'm having surgery to remove a cancerous tumor from my lung," Wydell blurted out as she clasped her coffee cup with both hands. "I didn't want to tell you earlier and spoil our last holiday together."

I sat stunned as a wave of fear washed over me. Was my sister really dying?

"Oh, Mama," Sandy said as she kissed Wydell's wrinkled face.

The morning passed in a hushed haze. As Sandy and I boarded a jet that afternoon, I wondered how Wydell could spring this on us. I'd never have done that. But then, my twin and I rarely did anything the same way. I'd witnessed to hundreds of people, yet my own sister wanted nothing to do with the Lord. Did she have time to make things right with God?

Wydell used alcohol to cope with life. I tried to trust God with my needs and problems. I'd even gone into the ministry and now served as singles director at a large church. My twin and I loved each other, but differing values strained our relationship.

The only thing Wydell and I had in common was our background—growing up in a home marred by poverty and Daddy's violent alcoholism. Even that had changed when we were fifteen. After an old fishing buddy led Daddy to the Lord, my father quit drinking and our family joined a small country church in Georgia.

I loved church, but Wydell hated it and began to drift away. At seventeen, she dropped out of school and married Eddie, the town hoodlum.

Persistent love
Heading home, Sandy's words pierced my thoughts. "Did Mama tell you she and Eddie visited a church last summer?"

"A church?" I repeated.

"Yeah," Sandy continued. "Someone at Eddie's work kept inviting them to Calvary Baptist. So they went. They didn't fill out any kind of visitor's card because Mama said she didn't want church people bugging them."

I sighed. "Many years ago your mother told me never to bring up the subject of God to her again." I still could remember that conversation as if it had happened yesterday, including Wydell's parting words: "Myra, your words don't fall on deaf ears. I think about everything you say. But I don't want to hear about God anymore."

For seventeen years I honored her request because it seemed the only way to keep a good relationship. But now … the thought of my sister dying without …

Sandy leaned close. "Never give up praying. You've always told me that. I'm not going to give up and neither are you." I knew Ricky, Wydell and Eddie's son, would say the same thing.

Never give up praying. My mother said those words often during the decades she spent praying for Daddy. I'd tried to pray the same way for Wydell, but she seemed impenetrable.

Sandy and I said goodbye at the airport. Then she took my hand and prayed softly, "Lord, show us what to do."

On Monday morning my husband, Don, suggested I phone the church in Louisiana that my sister and her husband had visited and explain the situation. A cheery church secretary took all the needed information and assured me that a minister would visit my sister.

The pastor of Calvary Baptist Church, Step Martin, tried. Three times. But Wydell was usually at the hospital undergoing tests. Each time the pastor left a note on the door. Wydell kept every note.

On the day before my sister's surgery, the pastor was called out of town. Before leaving, he spread the word about Wydell. Several church members volunteered to visit her in the hospital.

I phoned her the day after surgery. "I'm coming to take care of you."

"You don't need to," Wydell responded with a different tone in her voice. "I can't believe it, but those church people visited me. They even took meals to Eddie. Why would they care? They don't even know us."

"God's love," was all I could answer.

"There's something else," Wydell said through choked sobs. "My tumor was benign. Do you think … maybe God … might have healed … me inside?"

"Yes," I whispered. "I think God is healing you inside."

A family celebration
When Pastor Martin got back, he went directly to the hospital and visited Wydell. Early the next day, my phone rang.

"I'm the pastor at Calvary Baptist," said a deep-voiced man. "Your sister asked me to call and tell you the good news. Last night Wydell asked Jesus to come into her heart."

Several moments passed before I could speak. "It's … it's a miracle. Thank you, Lord."

"When Wydell gets out of the hospital," the pastor continued, "she'd like to join our church and be baptized. Any chance you could be here and surprise her?"

"You bet."

Three weeks later I boarded a 7:30 a.m. flight for Baton Rouge. There, a deacon met me and drove us to Calvary Baptist. The man snuck me into the crowded church just minutes before the service ended.

I couldn't see Wydell in the crowd, but on the second stanza of the invitation hymn, I saw my twin slowly heading toward the front of the church. My heart caught in my throat as I thought, It's one of the first things she's ever done without Eddie.

At the end of the service, the pastor introduced Wydell to the congregation, explaining the events leading up to her conversion. Then he said, "Wydell, I understand you're a twin."

"Yes," Wydell answered.

"Your twin's name is Myra, right? And I understand Myra has prayed many years for you."

"Yes," Wydell whispered.

"Wouldn't it be nice if she could be here with you now?"

"Yes."

"Myra Noyes from Florida, are you here?"

I stepped into the aisle and walked toward the pastor.

"Oh my … oh my … dear God," Wydell shouted as she threw her hands into the air and ran towards me. We collapsed into each other's arms, crying, laughing, and hugging for what seemed like forever.

Then everyone in the congregation was standing—shouting "Amen," crying, and applauding.

"Wydell," the pastor broke in. "Look around. These people are clapping for you—a tiny fraction of the millions of angels rejoicing in heaven right now."

Wydell's face glowed with a radiant peace I'd never seen before. "I want to trust Christ and follow him for the rest of my life," Wydell said through tears. "Thank you for caring. I'm so glad that God and my family never gave up."

Following her baptism, Wydell and I stood together as people came by to offer hugs and handshakes. Many told us, "I'd given up praying for my family. But I'm going to start again. Thank you for reminding me to never give up."

The next morning at breakfast, Wydell and I both confessed to having had a sleepless night. When I asked Wydell why she had been restless, her answer surprised me. "Myra, we must start praying for Ronnie (our youngest brother). He needs to accept the Lord."

Yes, I thought excitedly, this is a miracle in more ways than one.

The changes in my sister have been dramatic. She can't stop talking about what the Lord is doing in her life—spiritually and physically. Eddie has joined a men's Bible study and prayer group as well as going to church regularly. He says he's so busy reading the Bible, he doesn't have time to watch TV! Though Eddie says God isn't ready for him yet, Wydell and I know it's just a matter of time and unceasing prayer.

My prayers are different for Wydell now—that she will stay close to God and will not go back to her old lifestyle. I pray that her Christian walk will be consistent and a real testimony to her friends and family.

For myself, after twenty-five years of steadfast praying for Wydell, it was a powerful lesson in intercession.

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