When It Comes Knocking

Confronting just how deep our faith really is in the face of what we fear most

Trigger warning: This post contains TMI descriptions (but not photos) of the medical kind. If you are squeamish or prefer to avoid such things, please look away.

It was the blood that scared me the most. Less than 48 hours after being released from an ER stay that began in the wee hours, I was standing above my normally stoic 10 year-old son as he cried on the toilet, his head buried in my hip. We’d been up since 4 a.m. fighting back stomach cramps, battling pain and swelling with every remedy at my disposal, praying aloud together.

“Sing for me, Momma?” he asked again, and my heart broke just a little bit more. I’ve always sung to my sick ones. It’s a small distraction my Mamaw taught me, one that still allows me access to the sound and cadence of her voice in my hardest hours.

The first words my tongue found were from the spiritual, Oh! Freedom, and the sweet repetitiveness of the lyrics gave us both comfort as we rode the waves of what was clearly something much bigger than we had hoped. It was just as I’d begun another verse that I realized the toilet’s water was tinged crimson, and I felt myself take a deep breath.

Up until that point, I had prayed. I had asked God for healing, for perseverance, for wisdom, for strength, for rest, for an absence of pain. But in that moment, everything shifted focus and my heart could only paraphrase Romans 8:26-27: “I don’t know what to pray, Lord. Holy Spirit, interceded on my behalf.”

Like most of you, I have a closet full of fears I keep barred shut. Noone pokes the bruise that is the fragility of our loved ones to see if we still can’t manage to conjure an instance where this is ok. We know it’s too much. We leave the door locked.

But sometimes, the door is crashed open by reality and circumstances and we get to taste our faith seasoned with the truest, deepest needs exposed.

I spent the next few hours back in the ER. We were triaged into a room immediately, which did nothing to bolster my confidence. Neither did lifting my 87 lb son into a wheelchair every 15 minutes to whisk him down the hall to a toilet where I would sing, yet again, while he cried and cramped and bravely told me that this pain, “is only a 6 or 7 I think.” There was another IV, more blood drawn, lines drawn on his normally bronze, sun-kissed skin to measure the creeping purple petechiae that had appeared.

I suppose my prayers were spoken in songs throughout the day:

When the dark powers had done their worst
Jesus brought victory o’er the curse.
You are my All in all.
Death could not hold the King of kings.
Now to His heirs new life He brings.
You are my All in all.

High King of Heaven, my victory won,
May I reach Heaven’s joys, O bright Heaven’s Sun!
Heart of my own heart, whatever befall,
Still be my Vision, O Ruler of all.

Nothing in my hand I bring,
Simply to Thy cross I cling;
Naked, come to Thee for dress;
Helpless look to Thee for grace;
Foul, I to the Fountain fly;
Wash me, Savior, or I die.

He will hold me fast,
He will hold me fast;
For my Savior loves me so,
He will hold me fast.

But consciously, all I could whisper, on repeat, were bits of Psalms I’ve committed to memory over the years. “Have mercy on me, Lord, for I am faint. Heal me, Lord, for my bones are in agony.” “The Lord sustains them on their sickbed and restores them from their bed of illness.” It was enough, friends. It gave me peace.

Here, on the other side, I find myself thankful not just for the prayers answered, but also for the comfort I felt as I faced a trial that could have left me reeling. The Lord was near, and I felt Him. The prayers of the saints were so clearly ringing out around the globe. And the Holy Spirit? Oh, yes. He groaned for me.

Have you ever found yourself facing something too big and scary for your finite flesh? What Scriptures have you found your heart repeating? How have you prayed through?

In Christ,

Heather