I found myself making the best of a chair beside her hospital bed in the wee small hours of Friday morning. She was sleeping. I was wrestling in a pit of despair. It felt like I was drowning without water.

There were no eloquent words. No verses that rose up from the hundreds I could recite the day before. The only thing I could remember was the story of the Centurion who came to Jesus and begged healing of his servant.  He told Jesus, you don’t need to come, “ … Just say the word, and he will be healed.” (Matthew 8:8) And so, I grabbed hold of his holy hem too and would not let go.

Over and over I said it. “Just say the word, Jesus.”

I was shook to the core. The day before I stood before about 30 or so women and talked about the marathon of motherhood and how God goes before us and makes provision for our every need. I believe that with all my heart. I truly do. But when the doctor calls at midnight that same night and tells you to go to the ER because your daughter’s hemoglobin is dangerously low, you do it. You wrap her in her pink blanket, grab her favorite bear and you go. When they lead you to a pediatric intensive care unit with your baby girls sick for who knows why, your clever words aren’t much of a comfort. All you have is the one who holds you together. And I was holding on to him with everything I had. It wasn’t much. It was small. Gratefully, it was not about what I had to bring to the moment, but who he was. He was enough.

And somewhere around 7AM that day as much of my world began to wake up a chorus of prayer rose up into the throne room boldly speaking our daughter’s name over and over again. This chorus would not stop for days and extended globally. Viral prayer is a beautiful thing. How do I have words for that? I don’t, only heart full of gratitude.

A doctor’s diagnosis comes slowly. Or at least they come more slowly than moms and dads would like. As the puzzle began to fit together and our eight year old endured just about every test you can have, we found some answers. They came with treatment I was nervous to say yes to. They also came with a large dose of mommy guilt I had to battle because how could I not know? I wrestled with that, too.

But Jesus said the word I longed to hear. “She is going to be OK.”

And something deep within this weary mom broke wide open after holding my breath for hours that seemed like days. And he held strong. Because what is truer in the moment than his promise to never leave us and to take courage? Nothing. (Joshua 1:9)

Eight Days in a hospital dismantles what you know and feel about life. We are humbled and grateful to be home picking up pieces of our every day lives and planning her birthday party in a few days. It could have turned out so very differently. And if it had, God would still be good and enough and our whole world. I’ve been there too in the last year after losing my dad.

You think I would be a little quicker on the uptake. But here I am still learning my Jesus holds us no matter what. He is not surprised by midnight phone calls to rush our babies to the ER, the passing of his saints, when the world rages or quakes. He is the one thing we need.

He is I Am.

He holds.

He holds us all.

“He was there before any of it came into existence and holds it all together right up to this moment. “ Colossians 1:17 (The Message)

And every moment there after.

xo,

Stacey