Something is not right.
The fever that won’t break,
the lump that we never noticed before,
the appetite that’s disappeared,
the weight put on, or off,
the persistent headache,
the seizure, the flushed face,
the voice crying, “It hurts.”
Parents flocking to doctors,
holding babies, hugging toddlers,
arms around adolescents,
hanging on to the hands of teenagers.
Explaining symptoms, describing situations.
The tell is the tremble in the voice,
which says without words,
“I’m so scared for them, please fix this.”
You are the unseen guest, Lord,
in every doctor’s office.
You are the one holding us
as we hear the news we do not want to hear.
You wipe the tears, you give us words
to tell our children the path they must take,
a path we would give our lives to walk for them.
Some of us walk the long healing road.
Some of us walk the longer disability road.
Some of us walk the gloomy road towards death.
You are the God we call to in the night,
when we lose hope, when we can’t take this.
You are the Saviour we cling to,
when we feel the pain and suffering of those we love.
You are the Comforter whose presence we require
when we feel we are past all comforting.
Be the God who touches our foreheads,
be the God who kisses the brow,
be the God who rests your cheek on ours,
whispering your message of love
even in this time of sickness.