I am trying this grey morning to remember the number of times I walked without my feet touching the ground; the times when God carried me on the back of His shoulders.
We are having a severe medical crisis at home. It was not what I expected and it is breaking me into tiny little bits. It is shattering my faith and my belief, letting all my pin-holes of doubt rip through.
On one hand, I feel like one big disappointment - you would think after everything I have been through in the past 18 months, I would be much stronger and courageous than this.
On the other hand, there is a quiet comfort that sits in the corner, just waiting for me to reach out to it. It's like a giant beanbag that will just enfold me if I move to sit towards it.
But I am standing still, not moving left nor right. Neither am I moving forwards nor backwards. And in all honesty, now it not the time to stand still. I should be running - running towards that quiet corner.
So run I will. Cos while I have my book of contacts and my intellect to ask the right questions and discuss the possibilities - there is only one ultimate healer of all.
"Lord, if you but only say the word, my dad shall be healed."
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