I was sitting on the couch when my oldest son came rushing in the door with my daughter in his arms. She was crying. She was wearing shorts and her knee was bleeding.Wait...rewind.
A few days before she had skinned her knee on the cement and it was the kind that really hurt. Sort of like a burn. You know the kind?
It had healed over with a scab and at least it didn't hurt anymore. So now you're up to speed.
Okay, so my son came rushing in, put her in my lap. She had fallen AGAIN and opened up her scab. Now it was bleeding, a lot. It was the really thick, dark red blood. It scared her and it hurt.
It was a little more than a week since we had the ultrasound that had shattered our dreams again.
She looked up at me with big tears flooding her eyes and said through her sobs, "I don't want to do it again."
I instantly fell apart with her and burst into tears. I cried with her as I hugged her and said, "I know just what you mean honey." It felt so strange and so perfectly parallel that I sensed the Lord was trying to say something. But what?
The next night I was giving her a bath. She didn't want to put her knee in the water, she was afraid it would hurt. I was telling her it needed to be cleaned so it would heal. I heard myself saying,
Does Mama love you?
Does Mama want to hurt you?
Trust me.
It will be okay.
While I was speaking the same little bell went off in my head, that the Lord was trying to tell me something.
I don't understand or feel better. But I do trust Him.
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Leave it With Him
"Consider the lilies, how they grow" (Matt. 6:28)
I need oil," said an ancient monk; so he planted an olive sapling. "Lord," he prayed, "it needs rain that its tender roots may drink and swell. Send gentle showers." And the Lord sent gentle showers. "Lord," prayed the monk, "my tree needs sun. Send sun, I pray Thee." And the sun shone, gilding the dripping clouds. "Now frost, my Lord, to brace its tissues," cried the monk. And behold, the little tree stood sparkling with frost, but at evening it died.
Then the monk sought the cell of a brother monk, and told his strange experience. "I, too, planted a little tree," he said, "and see! it thrives well. But I entrust my tree to its God. He who made it knows better what it needs than a man like me. I laid no condition. I fixed not ways or means. 'Lord, send what it needs,' I prayed, 'storm or sunshine, wind, rain, or frost. Thou hast made it and Thou dost know.'"
Yes, leave it with Him,The lilies all do,
And they grow--They grow in the rain,
And they grow in the, dew--Yes, they grow:
They grow in the darkness, all hid in the night--
They grow in the sunshine, revealed by the light--
Still they grow.
Yes, leave it with Him
'Tis more dear to His heart,
You will know,
Than the lilies that bloom,
Or the flowers that start
'Neath the snow
Whatever you need,
if you seek it in prayer,
You can leave it with Him
for you are His care.
