Holding My Breath

I'm not very brave. That's probably one of the reasons that faith in an invisible God comes effortlessly, naturally to me. Needing Him is like needing air or water or shelter. I know it. So I believe.

Today has been a scary day. Until this moment, with the house bursting with energy, with newly-hung lights promising memory-making, merry-making, with the distraction of chores and need upon need, I felt I was navigating the uncertainty of the day well. But as the house grows silent and the wind howls outside and the ambiance of those same lights takes on new meaning ~ weighty, what-if, I-don't-know-how-to-do-this meaning ~ I'm not moving through the questions so seamlessly.

Fear cloys at my throat and my heart and my limbs as thoughts rapid-fire their worrisome threats. Will my boy be okay? He's going to be okay. Of course he's going to be okay. But what if he's really not okay?

My fifteen year old man of a child spent the day being poked and prodded and bled and tested. He has a funny little spot on his eye ~ a hemorrhage caused by who-knows-what. It's likely just a symptom of some sort of vascular infection. There was (or is) probably an infection in a valve in his heart that the body's breaking up and then pumping through his blood stream. Bits are getting stuck in some places and causing a little damage. No biggie. Treatable. Walk-away-from viral stuff.

It could be something different, though. And that's where the fear is sitting, watching, waiting. It's inviting me to follow it's lead in muddling through questions that cannot be answered tonight. Tonight there are no answers. Only a choice: faith. Or fear.

I know this: God is always good. He's sometimes fierce and deadly. He's sometimes tender and full of healing. Sometimes He gives. Sometimes He takes. He has always given much more to me than He's asked of me. I have known the merciful God.

I'm scared to death of the One who steps aside and allows life's vicious blows. I do not know that One well. I think I trust Him despite that lack of comprehension? I grow angry with Him. I charge Him with neglect, at times; I rage against His apparent withdrawal, at times. But I tend to lean toward believing that He knows something I don't know about the way this all plays out, and so I have faith in my unseen God.

Maternally, I am toying with coming undone. I so desperately want my six-foot-two, sarcastic, brown-haired, wise giant of a babe to be well and joyful and whole. He probably is. He might not be. Either way, I believe that the One who knew him even before he was formed holds him securely, surely, eternally. His ways are good and true and full of Life.

I'm not very brave, so that's where I'll settle in. Near to the Giver of Life whom, like air, or water, or shelter, I cannot live without.