I’m tired of beeps, tired of evil chair beds, tired of not knowing, tired of being tired, tired of Julia’s pain. It’s 5 in the morning, and I am mourning. Maybe it’s the dark of the room, the hum of the annoying air conditioner, the hunger in my gut. But I felt the need to pour out my heart to Jesus right now. I’ll let you join in for the ride.
Jesus, I lift up those who have suffered this way far more than I have. I pray for my friend Shelly, walking through her dad’s cancer recurrence, my friend Twilla who battles her own, my friend Holly who has suffered alongside so many of her children. They are my heroines right now. Please be with each one in tangible ways today.
I give You Julia. You love her far more than I do, and You know what’s wrong. I rest in Your sovereign timing of a diagnosis, and even if we never figure this out, I choose to praise you in this moment. But my mother’s heart is to know what is hurting her. Please, Jesus, show the doctors what in the world is wrong. Or just plain heal her.
Protect Sophie and Aidan during this time. Give them supernatural rest. Calm their fears and nerves. Reveal Yourself to them in uncanny ways. Surround them with people who love You and them. Bring deep, wide community to them. I trust You for that.
Be very near Patrick as he shoulders this. Calm his heart. Help him know that You see all this and will give us all the strength and provision we need to endure.
I give You me. Me who is beyond worried and tired and over it. I need rest. I need You. I need perspective. I need Your eyes upon me, Your grace holding my trembling hand, Your power overwhelming my weakness.
Thank You Lord for friends who are truly, deeply good to us, who shoulder our burden alongside, who weep with us, who provide. Every time I think about the wealth we have in friends, I tear up. God, You are so so so good to provide community. In light of that, I pray You would make me a better community member, to be more compassionate, more understanding, more sacrificial, more hopeful, more of an intercessor for those in trauma. Open up my heart; don’t diminish it. Broaden my influence for Your sake, not mine.
Above all, may Your renown resound in this situation. Your fame. Your glory. Your power. Your goodness. It’s all about You, even if I sit on a rocking chair in the wee hours of the morning, mourning. Thank You for the example of the lament psalms, where the Psalmist started off much like me, then ended his rant with praise. I’m glad there are others in the Bible who riled, felt sad and confused, and threw their pain to the heavens. Thanks that when we hurl it, You catch it and shoulder it.
I don’t know where I would be without You, Jesus. My life is Yours. You have done great, miraculous things in my heart, far beyond my wildest imagination. So I look back on your faithfulness and draw from that like it’s a bank, and I’m spending it today. Help me to be fully alive, alert, and attuned to Your presence in this moment. Help me be a compassionate mother to my children, and a dedicated, cheerleading wife to my husband. Be near our extended families as they watch all this from the sidelines.
Thank You Jesus for prayer. I need it. My prayer of mourning this morning is turning into something wholly different. And for that I’m grateful. Please, please be near Jesus. I need You.