This post is a shout-out to my precious grandma friend who has been in rehab for more days than she can count.
Diabetic and with recent leg amputation and congestive heart failure, your nights have lasted for what seem like 36 hours, as you try to catch your breath and get comfortable in bed. You told your sweet niece you were going to write a book with the above title, but your words are visiting here instead.
Sometimes the night is long, and the pain we feel in our bodies and scraping across our souls is almost unbearable.
The clock ticks one second at a time.
Will the trial never end?
Will the real light of day never break through the cracks of the blinds and deliver hope?
And the light from the ice machine in the hallway can’t warm the soul.
Here is a prayer for you, from Streams in the Desert, by L.B. Cowman:
“Father, give me Your divine power –the power of Gethsemane. Give me the strength to wait for hope –to look through the window when there are no stars. Even when my joy is gone, give me the strength to stand victoriously in the darkest night and say, ‘To my heavenly Father, the sun still shines.’” -George Matheson
I sit by your bed, talking and laughing with you, and I wish I could do more for you than rest my warm hand on the cool skin of your arm. I wish I could give you the gift of sleep at night and no distress in your body.
But all I can give you is love, and I have lots of that. For the rest, I trust Jesus has everything you need for this season. You have given glorious testimony of his presence in the wee hours, and I trust he will continue to dole out well-timed grace as you need it, moment by moment.
David sings of God, “Even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.” (Psalm 139:12 NIV)
May God light up your dark.
I love you, ma’am.