“But just say the word, and my servant will be healed.”
I understand my adopted daughter's compromised beginnings and my heart cries out with ragged begging…please God. Just say the word and my children will be healed!” It’s the anguished cry of every mother’s heart: for her child, her family and herself. “Lord, I can’t fix this. But You can. Pleeeeeease!”
But what if He doesn’t? What if there’s no healing of the wounds their innocent souls and bodies suffered? What if their healing is long and painful? What if they choose self-medication instead? What if I don’t have what it takes to go the distance on this one? What if…?
I’ve agonized to make sense of this gut-wrenching prayer. And honestly, while there is always hope, and smatterings of healings on the short run, more times than not we learn to live with our suffocating grief. Dress it up. Walk with a limp. Resign ourselves to its numbing-ness. Redefine our lives, and God. And carry on. Maybe that’s what faith is all about. But maybe it’s not.
Consider an amputee; someone who surrendered a limb. The pain and horror of it make me want to vomit. But I know it’s final. Kaput. The end. Their spirit may heal, blossom and thrive. But they won’t grow another limb. Not in this life.
Is that true for some of our kids? Those who had a piece of their soul amputated by abuse, alcohol and drug induced brain damage, institutionalization, or birth and foster moms who disappeared, ripping non-renewable pieces of their heart from their souls?
God created an orderly world governed by physical laws. The farther we stray from His plan the more drastic the results. Some of us are called to parent drastic results; others got stuck with it. God help us! And He will. But He may provide strength, courage, grace, acceptance, defiance and dogged determination to help our child. It may not be the healing for which we pray, beg, bargain and manipulate. What then?
I’m out of pat answers. But I know His grace is sufficient. I know His word is true. I know He loves and defends the orphans. I know His peace surpasses understanding. I know their names are engraved on the palm of His hand. I know His ways are different than my ways. I know this is not my home, or theirs. I know He is pleased with mercy and not sacrifice. I know miracles happen. I know Jesus. I know He loves the orphan’s mother, too.
Can we be satisfied knowing we have done what He asked us to do? That we are not perfect? That our worth is not determined by the outcome of our children? That we love our children but can’t fix them; we can’t replace their amputated parts. But by God’s grace, are we willing to love what’s left, until He says the word?
I think that’s one question with which we need to wrestle…for our children and ourselves.