Normally this time of year I write about new beginnings with the School Year and the like, but I now have something new on my mind, and I am going to write about that, instead. This past week, I spent a few days in Pediatric ICU while my daughter struggled to breathe.
That was scary enough as it was, even with some of the finest child care specialists in the world around me caring for her beyond anything Rose and I would have been capable of, because of course it was still Rose and I she looked to for help, not just because she couldn’t breathe well, but because of all these strangers poking and prodding at her. She didn’t just want me to hold her, she wanted me to SAVE her.
Every breathing treatment was a battle as I would hold her arms and head still, allowing the Specialists to do what they needed to do. She’d choke and scream and cry and beg me with her eyes to stop what was happening, because she couldn’t understand that what was happening was saving her life.
Medicine is rarely a pleasant experience, and it isn’t only little children who strain against our doctors and nurses when what is best for us proves to not be fun. I think that is a good thing to remember in our relationship with God, as well. What we need to make us better, to cure us of our ills, is unlikely to be an entirely pleasant process. We’re likely to ask God to stop it, to save us from a process designed to help us get better.
Like a good nurse, God hears those prayers… and by grace, answers them no.