"Pray, Pray, Pray" . . .

. . . my brother-in-law ended his last email with these words. Gloria has gone downhill fast. She now has pneumonia in addition to the bacterial meningitis that has penetrated her brain from a blown eardrum filled with infection. The doctor repeatedly performs MRIs to assess some problem in the brain -- my brother-in-law did not ask what. I fear a brain abscess . . . But God. Latest word told that Gloria is agitated and must be restrained amidst all the sedation. Dear Lord, comfort her.

I have broken the news to my girls and they have made their way off to play the harp, pray, and study medical texts. The mood hangs heavy around here -- as the above rose displays so vividly.

We lay our burdens down at His feet, and I have urged my girls to curl up right along with the painful fears and rest in the lap of our Abba Father. He knows . . . we do not. He is powerful and mighty . . . we are not.

I must go tend to the hearth and keep the meals coming and the clean clothes washing. Matthew does not understand any of this, save that his family wears sorrow and that drags his spirits down as well. Autism is so cruel. And yet, we rejoice that our young man has battled so much this past year and has emerged as sweet and soft as he once was.

Lord, I pray for all of my children as they deal with this in their own way, and for my husband as he phones so many of the older friends and relatives to inform them of the progress (or lack thereof). For myself Lord . . . I ask only for peace in the midst of not knowing, as I battle my need-to-know persona every hour that goes by. Into your hands I commit it all . . .