A Moment’s Touch of Grace

When I was very ill with a mental illness for years, many things that were precious to me died or went dormant. It was years of endless sorrow, and death took many forms. The dreams that vanished seemed so permanent and final, and the dormant things settled beneath the surface of my heart pricking me with the sting of hurting and of hoping.

Grief, loss, and disability affect us all from time to time. In these seasons, we grow weary and struggle to hold on. However, if we allow the truth of the written word of God and others’ testimonies to burrow deep, we can find needed strength.

One story that helps illustrate this point is the night my precious daughter, Eden, who was just one year old, got very sick with high fevers that would not relent. This was at the beginning of Covid, so I was forced to take her to the ER all alone. To say I was petrified is an understatement. You see, just a little over a year ago, I had tragically watched her twin, my precious first-born son, die in a horrifying way right in front of me. 

Because of this, I felt a sense of unreality as I went through the hospital doors. I got her checked in, and she was immediately taken back to begin tests. Hours came and hours went. My poor girl was subjected to scans, IVs, a spinal tap, labs, and catheterization. I was such a wreck, barely holding on, and in trauma response mode. Eden was in pain and we only got through that night by the invisible sustaining power of Jesus Christ. 

There were periods throughout the night where I found my way to Him…a frantic, “I trust You, help me,” or,  “I believe,” would pour from my broken heart. 

Those moments, one by one, carried me through the night, strength to strength. Strength takes work and it hurts, but accomplishments are made through it. Around one in the morning, a team of doctors came in and informed me that there was a serious chance my daughter, my prayed-for- miracle, had cancer. Not only that, we were being transferred by ambulance to the very hospital where my son had died a year earlier. 

Everything I dreaded was coming full circle. That night as I lay trying unsuccessfully to comfort my tiny girl, I cried out to God. “I can’t!” I said repeatedly, “I cannot do this! Please, please, make this stop!” Every time I cried out throughout those early morning hours that seem to never end, He responded, “My grace is sufficient for you, My power is made perfect in your weakness. I will give you grace for the moment.” 

I learned a hard lesson that has stuck with me: when we lean on Him, He will give grace that is absolutely enough to get to the next moment. I physically lived that, watching and observing in my spiritual inner person, as well as in my physical body, as the great grace of God washed over me in abundant measure. He was never late, never early, and He never gave me too much or too little. His perfect grace kept me aware of my constant need for Him, and it also taught me that He is absolutely trustworthy and present in all my darkness. 

Had I not gone all alone to the hospital with my only surviving child, I would have missed this treasure in the darkness. The things we dread the most, if we are asked to venture there, are where the tender gifts of God will find us. We must change our inner narrative from anger and disillusionment to one of willing wonder. Willing wonder is the act of submitting to His will and being hungry to see what glorious treasures He has waiting in the darkness that He allows you to face.

Oh, how I long to step out onto that sea of faith,

To walk upon its waters great.

Even though I cannot see,

I know whose hand is holding me.

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