Devotion 310 - Up

I looked down at her wrist.  It looked so tiny and fragile. 

My ten-year old.  My strong, healthy, brave 10- year old suddenly seemed so fragile, like a gust of wind could blow her out of big bed she was laying on.  I held her as if I could steal her from the wind. 

That’s what mamas do.  They stand in the gap for their wee ones.  They try and take away pain and shield them from fear. 

At this very moment I could do neither.

I looked down at her hand and held each finger.  I read her name on the band the nurse had just put on.  Lily, the lilies of the field.  She was named after my mother but she was named equally so for the lilies of the field.  

All the worry, the planning, the praying that went into our search for our daughter; it seemed fitting to crown her with the name that the Father used when He wrote of His very despise of worry.

I have looked back probably a thousand times at that journey.  The pregnancy that was lost.  The agency that “didn't go to Kazakhstan”, but then decided to accompany us.  The referral of a beautiful little girl that “might not be there when we arrive.” 

The journey of thousands of miles to a little heart I knew was mine.

 

Now, 10-years later.  The fragile baby that had laid in a hospital in Kazakhstan now returned, this time with her mama and her dad.  Yet, we seemed helpless to take her pain away.

She had awakened with a sore throat, sore ear yet again, but now a swollen neck.  The doctor at the clinic told her dad to take her to the emergency room, “immediately.”

I was at the office.  I didn't expect those words.  I was trying to close out the year.  There was inventory to consider, tax payments, payroll, nowhere on my list did I envision a trip to the hospital.  I met them just as they moved Lily to a little room.  The urgent care doctor thought she needed a “procedure,” this too, was not on my Monday agenda.  I grasped Lily’s hand and told her not to fear.  She believed me no more than I believed my words.

Strange.  If you had asked me just moments, even seconds before, I would have told you it had been a marvelous year.  Not because of health, although gratefully we all had been fairly healthy.  Not because of business, although wonderfully sales had been good.  Not because of friendships or family, although mercifully they were all well.  No, I would have told you it had been a marvelous year because of Jesus.  I had grown closer to Him.  I could feel it.

Our conversations between He and I had grown longer and sweeter.  My reading had become hungrier.  My confidence in Him greater.  It had been a marvelous year.

I began to pray.  I told Lily that courage is simply fear that has said its prayers.  I prayed out loud but my words could not hold my thoughts.  My tears simply washed them away.  In those few seconds I felt adrift unable to hold on to my faith, unable to trust my thoughts and unable to find gratitude and grace.

I saw my husband’s hand cover mine and grasp Lily’s.  He prayed.  His voice strong, his confidence intact.  Even after a marvelous year, my faith falls short of his.  In just seconds the year flashed.  There had been no challenges.  The seedlings of my faith were watered yes, but not uprooted, not windblown, not even parched. 

Today, just moments before the year ended, the test came and I was failing.  I silently spoke words of gratitude that Brian was there.  

The nurse who had just put the bracelet around Lily’s wrist returned.  Now I noticed her smiling face and gentle demeanor.  She came with a pain pill.  She didn't know my Lily does not take medicine well.  With no words exchanged she began to ask Lily if it was “too big a pill or would she prefer to drink her medicine, would she like ice water or plain?” and then, I saw the sparkling cross hanging around her neck.  The Holy Spirit had marched in before us.

Lily took her pill.  As she swallowed I noticed how much better her neck look.  The swelling was noticeably gone.  I asked God if I was seeing a miracle.

Finally Lily agreed to TV.  She and I both seemed content with our misery, finally she broke free.  We sat silently waiting for the doctor, her hand in mine.  I was convinced hers was the stronger of the two.

It was a long thirty minutes but the doctor finally returned.  He agreed Lily was ill, quite ill, but he did not agree she needed a procedure.  I might of heard angels or perhaps it was my mama’s heart rejoicing.

I hadn’t realized how sweet the doctor had been until now.  He seemed like a sweet Grandpa somehow knowing neither my Lily, nor her mother could stand a “procedure.”

He said he should probably draw blood, but he could live without it.  The Holy Spirit, how sweet He is.

Shortly we were on our way.  The cocoa we had promised Lily early that morning was now purchased and the bed we had left was now full. 

She rested and I rejoiced.

Strange, sometimes faith is a matter of perspective.

We can look down into the dark or we can look up into the light.

We can convince ourselves we are adrift or we can feel the steadying hand of the tether that ties us to the Holy Spirit.

We can close our eyes or we can open them to His creation -the smile on a face, the cross on a neck, the warmth of a hug, the glorious radiance of a sunrise.

We can consider faith a test, or we can consider it homework that we draft and rewrite as life ebbs and flows.  

Elizabeth Elliot said Faith does not eliminate questions. But faith knows where to take them.

Where do we take them Beloved?  We take them UP to Him. 

He comes around the corner, He stands in the gap, and He hangs stars to guide and sun to warm.  He waits; we look up and find Him.

A Strong woman knows she has strengths enough for the journey, but a woman of strength knows it is in the journey where she will become strong.

-unknown

For I am the Lord your God

    who takes hold of your right hand

and says to you, Do not fear;

    I will help you.

Isaiah 41:13