My 14-year-old daughter is heading to a therapeutic wilderness program tomorrow, much against her wishes. She is blisteringly angry about it and sees it as punishment rather than a path to mental health.
Needless to say, right now she hates me. She is also threatening to sabotage the effort. The doctor has warned we will have a bumpy road. Fear gnaws at my stomach.
I tell the Lord it’s time for a miracle, please. He can heal her or extinguish some of her fear or anger, if He chooses. I am keenly aware this may not be His plan.
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I remind myself we face a wide range of possibilities, ranging from death to extended misery to partial healing to health. I can’t allow fear to focus my attention on only the worst-case scenarios.
Then again, I can’t let maternal hope deny the possibility that we may be walking into even more pain. The only sensible approach is to be flexible, ready to respond to whatever comes our way.
And, of course, to pray.
I am doing the best I can, Lord. I am loving You as well as I know how. This is scary and impossibly hard. With each shaky breath I take, I breathe in Your spirit and life. With each step I take, I ask to walk in Your ways. And with each prayer I offer, I plead that You guide my child to Your love and comfort and mercy.
Amen.
