Breathe on her, breath of God. Then she will be restored. My daughter is ill. Very ill. Despite a complete colectomy last year, her Crohn's Disease remains sever and active. This month alone has entailed two hospitalizations, one for a fistular abscess, and the other to insert a PICC line. Now after nearly two weeks of daily antibiotic infusions, two previous incisions have spontaneously opened. One wound is nearly three cm deep. Now, in addition to each infusion, she must have these wounds dressed. She has little appetite but forces herself to eat until a Crohn's cramp emerges and stifles everything She is again looking like the anorexic refugee that she did when she was first diagnosed at the age of 11.
This back story is important to understand our pain and frustration and fear. To see your child in a hospital bed is devastating. To see the hope of each new treatment and the disappointment of each failure is agonizing. To see dark circles under once vibrant eyes is debilitating. To hear her each morning answer my, "How are you doing, Sweetie?" with, "I'm okay," astounds me. She is the strongest and courageous person I know.
Last night as I hoped my exhaustion would bring quick and peaceful sleep, I opened my Bible for inspiration and guidance and hope. The previous night I had asked God to heal her and would do whatever he ask of me. So, last night I thought I'd better start looking for signs of what he wanted from me. My Bible opened to Psalm 104:30: "but when thou breathest into them, they recover; thou givest new life to the earth." God was telling me he would heal my child. Now, I needed a sign of what God was asking of me in return. As I finished this psalm, I continued to the next for my answer. "Give the Lord thanks and invoke him by name, make his deeds known in the world around. Pay him honour with song and psalm and think upon all his wonders." (Psalm 105: 1-2). I must tell my story because my story is God's story. His loving breath restores us.
Writing about God's love here in this blog is a start, but I think I'm going to have to do more. I must write my story, and I must speak about it to whomever will listen. I must do what I have avoided for years. I must publicly profess my love for God, and acknowledge all He has done as my Lord and Savior. I'm not much on witnessing to others, or offering my testimony publicly. I've always believed that a person's faith is personal, and to flaunt it before others would be ostentatious. But I've also been afraid that I would be ridiculed for professing my beliefs. Declaring one's faith has never been a popular action in my circle of friends.
I've been thinking about Jonah and his refusal to go to Nineveh to denounce their wickedness toward God. Jonah fled, and as we all know ended up in the belly of a fish until he was ready to carry out God's will. I had hand-written this blog entry three days ago, promising to post it, yet avoiding doing so for reasons stated above. My daughter had her first dose of the new medication yesterday, but her cramping is worse than ever. Did I wait too long to hold-up my end of the bargain? She was feeling better as God had promised so I really didn't need to go through with this, right? I'm a fool. A selfish fool. This has never been about me. I'm merely a messenger, and I have to let others know that there is a power greater than us. Whether you call it God or Allah, I believe the higher power watches over and guides us all: Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Christians, Zoroastrians, etc., etc., etc. That power saved my life several times, and I refused to tell its story. Now my daughter is in great pain and suffering, and I must tell the story, our story: The Breath of God.
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