A simple sign with translations in English and Spanish conveys a message of assurance and hope. One word stands out, touching the crux of where I am: in-quietudes. For here we are again, at the Children's Hospital, seeking solutions. The road driven with my son who seems to always be ill, the way ahead uncertain. Here I stand, not panicked, but simply planted in the place of in-quietudes, soul longing to be soothed.
When I am in the midst of turmoil, when we have rushed to the ER, or called 911, my heart fragments, and I cry out to my healer- "Jesus, help us!" But this is a hushed chaos. Lingering uncertainty permeates and all I want is for my son to feel better.
So we traipse from test to test, x-rays taken, blood drawn, the boy being brave through it all, though he's weary, too. The verdict set down from one who should know is ambiguous; nothing more than a stab in the dark, so I seek a second opinion. There are no pie in the sky, easy solutions. No sudden release, no immediate healing.
And through it all, comfort came through messages of support- prayers sent out via social media, so many that my phone shut down, and I lingered on words cried out from a sister heart:
Father, You are good. You are The Healer and we can not fix things or heal people, but we trust You can. I trust you, Jesus, to guide the doctors, to figure out what is going on in his body - and heal him! I trust you, Jesus, to calm his mother's fears and not to let her spend her time worrying, but calling out to you. I trust you, Jesus, that you are all the comfort she needs and all the comfort that her son needs. I trust you, Jesus, that you are there with your arms open wide to hold them tight.
God we hurt when our children hurt, so I imagine it hurts you when we hurt. You know our pain. God, guide these doctors. Calm fears. Bring healing, O God. We love you and praise your name in all things. Amen.
In times like these, no pretty pictures of an emotionless Jesus will suffice. What we really need, what I really need this very week, is to know that in the messiness and muck and blood and guts that I am not alone. This is what speaks to gaping needs. I do not need God- or even life- entirely explained. I just need to know that when I am on the floor of a hospital hallway with a sick child stuck in the bathroom, I am not forsaken.
For He has not despised or disdained the suffering of the afflicted one; He has not hidden his face... but has listened to [my] cry for help.*
And he restores my soul.
*Psalm 22:24 and Psalm 23:3