Prayers needed, prayers welcome, prayers are the thing that get me through my days. I’ve been in the hospital for ten days with a baffling lung infection. The doctors’ care has been superb, the nurses are supportive and compassionate. My family has been at my side all times of day.
I confess I get discouraged. I get tired of the fevers, weary of the unknown and plain just tired of being in a hospital–an excellent one–where there is always someone taking my blood or giving me a shot or hooking me up to an i.v. or taking my temperature or listening to my heart beat.
I say prayers of gratitude to the miracle of Western medicine and all it has accomplished. I am in much better shape than when I first arrived, with no small thanks to those i.v. drips and shots.
Where I need prayers is to keep my hopes up and to trust that God is at work in all of this and that the Ultimate Physician is in charge.
I appreciate your prayers. At night when I lie in bed I picture them sustaining me, supporting me. They are deep and heartfelt and as rich as the stars in the sky. I shoot prayers back to whomever is praying, all of us girded by love.
One little answered prayer (these things we cling to). My wife was frantic this morning. She had lost her wallet and couldn’t fathom where it might be. She turned the house upside-down. No luck. Then she rushed to the hospital, arriving at my bedside first thing. There was the wallet–thanks be to God–right next to the chair she had been sitting in, safe, undisturbed all night.
A little thing it might seem, but a big reminder than answered prayers come in all shapes and sizes.
