If you’ve ever had to trust your child’s life to the hands of surgeon, you know how utterly faith-shaking and potentially faith-building that experience can be.
As a mother, it is engrained into the very fiber of my being to want to fix things for my children.
Some things I can fix.
Some things I can make all better.
A few kind words after a hard day, a kiss on a skinned up knee, a popsicle for a sore throat, a hug after a child’s feelings have been hurt, a little glue on a broken toy, a solution to a problem, help with frustrating homework… those things I can fix. Those things I can make all better.
And there are times when… I. CAN’T. FIX. IT.
I just can’t.
And I have to trust and lean hard on the wisdom and experience of others, and more importantly on the kindness and strength of the Father.
Mattie’s heart was broken. It had an enormous hole and things were not right. I couldn’t fix it.
Twice I handed my son over to a surgeon and each time I wanted to cry out to him, “FIX THIS! SAVE MY SON! He must live and not die. Do you know how precious this life is to me?”
I didn’t say those things.
I kissed my son’s head.
And I prayed.
I prayed, “GOD, FIX THIS! SAVE MY SON! LET HIM LIVE AND NOT DIE. I know that You know the plans that you have for his life, and I believe that they are plans to prosper him and not to harm him. I believe that every day ordained for my son was written in Your Book before one of them came to be. Father, let him live.”
I mustered up all the faith I could and whispered my prayer, and I held my breath, because sometimes I forget to breathe.
And he lived. And I took a deep breath. And I gave thanks to the One who created him.
And I will always and forever look at that surgeon with tears in my eyes, full of gratitude for the gift that the Father gave him, when He created him with hands to heal.
And with every living, breathing, joyful moment of my precious son’s life, I worship the Creator.
photos courtesy of Aaron James at Sidestreet Photography