A shaft of artificial light spills into the room, jarring me from a semi-conscious state. A nurse apologizes, explains that it is time to start the I.V. up again. I sit up from the fold-out chair that I have been trying to sleep on for the past hour, and walk over to the bed, once again jolted by the image in front of me. My sweet 7-year-old daughter, daughter, sleeps peacefully with little notice of the wires on her chest and the line feeding drugs into her body. I help the nurse turn her over, check her blood pressure again, and run my hands through her blonde hair.
It is just after 3 a.m. and the nurse has left us again; the beeping of the machines punctuates the night. Hannah slumbers on, but I cannot sleep. Instead I fall to my knees by her bedside and close my eyes in prayer. I pray for her body to heal. I pray for the doctors treating her that they would have wisdom to know the best course. I offer thanks that we live in a country with the medicine to heal the infection that is spreading from her knee.
Then God whispers in my ear: How about a new prayer? How about you let go of everything and leave it to me? How about you let my will be done? How about you pray that risky prayer even knowing that I might take your child? Can you be okay with that?
My children have always been the one area where I have asked God not to challenge me because, honestly, I don’t know if my faith could survive such a test. I just don’t know if I could trust in God’s plan if it were to involve taking away a child that I had cherished for seven years. A couple of years before she was born my first pregnancy ended in miscarriage. In utero, we called this one “maybe baby” for the longest time, refusing to get excited until after the 20-week mark had passed. I could not fathom losing her, but could I put her life in God’s hands? Questions run through my mind all night, challenging me to rethink my relationship with God and my child.
As I lie awake all night, I watch in wonder at the creation that God made and has entrusted to me. I watch her chest rise and fall. I marvel at her. I think of all of the times when she and I have butted heads. I think about what is important, and what is not. I think of who I was before she was born, and in how many ways she has changed my life. I do not sleep, but a wave of peace spreads over me.
The next afternoon, exhaustion finally kicks in. I crawl into bed next to my daughter, wrap my arms around her and finally sleep comes. It is only later as we walk out of the hospital that I allow the tears to fall. Tears of gratitude and sweet exhaustion mix together and run down my cheeks. Thank you, Lord. Thank you.
Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Philippians 4: 6-7
