An over-active imagination at this point only gives the devil amazing amounts of fuel for torment. And, I couldn't fight it.
I had to almost gag down my breakfast. But I had to eat. When would we get a chance to eat again? My husband and I knew that frustration and low-energy brought on by hunger would do nobody any favors on this day. The doctor had told us to meet him at the children's ward so that he and the surgeon could make a decision about what to do with my little Adela--remove her swollen lymph node or drain an abscess that they suspected was deep within the mass of tissue.
God, oh God, why can't I feel your peace? Is there any way to feel you, hear you right now?
I was drowning in the fear. And then I remembered someone telling me to read Psalms on that day.
So I did. And peace fought its way back into my heart.
I needed something exterior of my own pain to force an idea of God's grace into my head.
But it didn't end there. The whole day was a fight for calm. A fight for patience. A fight to retain faith that in every way God was reigning over our lives and His will would be done.
The pediatrician and surgeon looked Adela over and decided to go in first and try to drain what they though was an abscess. I dressed up in the gown and cap so I could be with her when she fell asleep and them my husband and I sat out in the waiting area. Waiting. Trying not to drown in the fear.
I knew in my head that God was there. I kept praying, thanking him for being part of my life, but the fear for my little girl threatened the strength of my faith. The faith in His promises.
Yet He was truly with us the entire time. The surgery went well and when I held her in my arms again, felt the deep breaths of her body and heard her childish babble, fear gave way to thankfulness.
Oh, God, I am such a child still, needing so many reminders of how carefully you watch over us. Forgive my doubts. Train me to forget my worries. Help me to always feel your grace deep in my soul.