He is gone. Without fanfare or ceremony, without even a
proper good-bye, he is simply gone. I
knew this moment would inevitably happen, of course. It started with overnight visits, which were
confusing and distressing enough.
And
then one day he left for a visit and did not return.
Now what? My days had long ago settled into a familiar
routine of caring for him. Showering his
face with kisses. Snuggling with him,
just so, in the crook of my neck. Anticipating
his needs. Celebrating his milestones. Partnering with his medical team. And long into the night my mind continued to
formulate plans for his growth and development.
Although I have cursed insomnia as an exasperating enemy, it offered me
many, many opportunities to pray for him, to open my hands and entrust him to
the Lord’s care and protection again and again and again.
Those bustling daytime hours and
those interminable sleepless nights were filled with silence. I came before the Lord with empty hands,
feeling as if I had nothing to offer.
Not once did I see Him miraculously heal that child, whose birth defects
will most likely remain a constant rival to his health for the rest of his
life. There was never a moment when I could say, “Oh, now I see God’s
purposes. Now I understand why this
child is here.” The answer to my prayers
was always the same. Silence.
In the silence, in the unanswered
questions, in the doubts and uncertainties . . . God’s sufficient grace always found
me. Even when I couldn’t see God’s hand
at work, the truth of His promises never once waivered. He was my Hope in the silence.
