These summer night have found us unable to sleep. The moon’s rising at late hours keeps the children awake as long as there is light. But it is more than that. Fear for each of them. Different fears, but they all have them and they whisper them to me at bedtime as I pray with them.
“Will you pray that lightning doesn’t strike our house?”
“Will you pray we won’t be hit with a big wave?”
“Will you pray we won’t have a flood and our house get washed away?”
Then the one that strikes my soul.
“Will you pray I don’t ever get sick like you, Mama?”
Oh, dear child. If you only knew how often I pray that for you! For all of you. For all of the dear ones in my life.
Then he sits beside me, one of my little men with troubled eyes and an even more troubled heart.
“Do you know why I have so much trouble going to sleep at night, Mom?”
Why, my child?
“I’m worried about you. I’m worried I might not have a mom anymore.”
My eyes overflow as I look into his, speechless. He carries so much. They all do. So much weight to bear.
“I know you’ve taught me. I know the Bible says God always takes care of us and He has a reason. But, Mama? I have a really hard time believing that.” His words… barely a whisper now, as if ashamed to voice his struggle.
“Oh, my love, I have a hard time believing it, too. Such a hard time.”
We said no more. I had nothing to give him other than arms and tears and prayers.
They need them more these days than usual. My arms and my love.
They are bearing heavy burdens.
We all are. I am facing results from more tests in this next week… searching for answers of why the pain? why the fatigue? And we are fearful. And we await answers and we pray for nothing more. Please, Lord, nothing more?
But I cling, knowing that even if I have a hard time believing, it doesn’t change truth.
God is good.
There is a reason.
He is with me.
And I pray.
For Our Children
Father, hear us, we are praying,
Hear the words our hearts are saying,
We are praying for our children.
Keep them from the powers of evil,
From the secret, hidden peril,
From the whirlpool that would suck them,
From the treacherous quicksand, pluck them.
From the worldling’s hollow gladness,
From the sting of faithless sadness,
Holy Father, save our children.
Through life’s troubled waters steer them,
Through life’s bitter battle cheer them,
Father, Father, be Thou near them.
Read the language of our longing,
Read the wordless pleadings thronging,
Holy Father, for our children.
-Amy Carmichael, from “For Our Children.”