I have been watching my son slowly (SO slowly) try to heal from a seemingly minor, "everyone does it" surgery and I am weary. Even with hoards of love, prayer, and concern cast forth upon us, I am weary.
It was the other night that I found myself battling it out with Jesus.
50 shades past exhausted, I held my son in newly changed sheets sans bile, as he breathed deeply drifting into rest.
"Jesus, I KNOW you can heal. I KNOW you DO heal. But I can't ask you to heal this because I feel selfish. There are families dealing with cancer, death, terminal illness, and I am desperate after four long days; four long days that I know have an imminent end. HOW is this ok? HOW are children being sick ok?"
I grappled in perhaps the most real I have ever let myself get with Jesus. I was angry & it seemed trite. I was too tired to scoot my chair back and excuse myself from the table with Him.
I processed this with two of my girl friends. One of them so astutely asked, "Have you 'heard' anything placed into your heart from Him during these days?" And I had. I had been reminded in love, "Don't put human limits on me" but I shuffled past that dealt card and kept on moaning. Angry that I couldn't take my son's pain for him, doubting my motherly instinct to proceed with the surgery, fearing that my son would be traumatized by this. I couldn't lay my thoughts down and turn the battle off. I couldn't rest in the truth in my delirium.
My husband is my best friend and teammate and here we are, at opposite ends of our son, pinning him down, forcing another syringe ever so gently against his grinding teeth and fitful body thrashing, forgetting to speak to each other in love. Sheer desperation for this to be OVER we find it easier to grumble, grunt, and toss out the "I wish you had's".
In ALL of this, I have been just crushed inside that parents deal with this over much more severe illnesses and I felt the weight of their heavy shoulders bearing down on my lungs squeezing all of my remaining breath from my soul. My body & bed have been paired magnets disabling my ability to move.
"Jesus, I don't understand this world and it's hurts. I KNOW you took on all sin so I could have everlasting life. I KNOW you understand human pain, hunger, thirst, need for you were once here, too. I love you, even when I am angry and fighting you with my toddler fists demanding answers. I KNOW you love me, you love my son more than I do. I KNOW. And I'm so sorry I find myself so ungracious right now. Please help me. Protect my marriage, my sons, my self from the battlefield of my own heart and mind in this moment of earthly aching. Amen."
