Mothers
know the out of control, helpless feelings that life can bring. We put on a strong façade, but inside we cry
out for something or Someone to help us.
We need to be helped, even as we help others.
I
know that I am not alone in watching helplessly as you see your child in
pain. I also know that I have not seen
the ultimate pain of losing a child. I
cannot imagine that pain. I sometimes
make myself “go there” and walk my soul through what life would be like if I
saw one of my children die. We have come
close, but we have received mercy and grace instead of death.
In
the day to day, moment by moment living, I do not dwell on such deep
things. I focus more on the laundry that
grows ever higher or the second bump or bruise of the morning. I throw up quick prayers that say, “Ok, how
do I deal with this one, God?” and “Help
me to keep it in check, Lord!” I pray
for the “little” things in life. I even
pray for God to heal a little hand from warts.
My
son has had his thumb covered with little warts for some time now. It began as one and then spread all over the
thumb, then spreading to the other fingers.
We attempted some of our own voodoo medicine. Nothing worked. We didn’t make it a big deal and we would
often just forget that they were there.
I
was reminded of the warts when I would go to hold his hand to help him cross
the street, or trim his nails, or help him write his name. And when I would see them or feel them, I
would pray.
My
mother and father have a story about warts and prayer. Apparently, when my mother became pregnant
with me, she broke out in warts all over her hands. They did not know why and they could not get
rid of them. I know that they prayed,
because they remembered. When I was
born, the warts just went away. This
gave me a little hope.
As
the warts continued to spread, I became more bold in my prayers. We prayed together for God to heal him. I also felt the gnawing guilt that a mother
feels when she knows she should do more to help her child. I felt my finiteness. I could not heal.
Tonight,
after a bath, I helped my son dry off and get dressed. Then, I pulled him up on my lap to trim his
nails and tell him a story of my own childhood.
This is a tradition of mine. I
tell the children a story when I trim their nails, to distract them from the
evil metal pinchers that are bearing down upon their hands and feet.
As
I took his hand in mine, I noticed something.
It was smooth. I looked down and
the warts were gone! I stopped, and I
said, “Liam! Your thumb, it doesn't have
any warts on it! You have been
healed!” And he said, “Yes, I guess I
am, Mom.” Everything stopped for a
moment. I remembered my parents. I remembered feeling helpless. I remembered that God hears and heals.
The
warts are a reminder that we are merely human.
Our bodies need healing. Our
souls need hope. We live from one little
healing to the next. We rest on one
little hope to the next.
I
will remember this little healing and I know that this little hope will
grow. It has already.
~Your Fellow Sojourner
Here is the song I sang
with Liam at bedtime:
My God is so big!
So strong and so mighty, there’s nothing my God cannot do.
My God is so big!
So strong and so mighty, there’s nothing my God cannot do.
The mountains are His, the rivers are His, the stars
are His handy work too.
My God is so big!
So strong and so mighty, there’s nothing my God cannot do, for you!
amen!
ReplyDelete