Not a siren—just a prayer.

Remember when I wrote about Grace, the girl with cancer? 

She came to visit her sister once when I was teaching—she came down to the Motor Lab and spun on the spinning board and drew on the whiteboard, a twelve-year-old having as much fun as all the seven-year-olds. 

But today she says she feels weak—inside and out, she’s weak. I don’t know what all that means, except that her mouth hurts so much she can hardly eat. Her hair is gone and she’s in a constant back and forth at a big city hospital, a country girl who’d rather be at home. And hospitals are stale and cold—the air isn’t fresh and clean, the windows are small. Her world is small. 

How brave does she have to be? Lord, why do you ask her to be so brave?

She’s got great doctors, a wonderful family, devoted friends. But only God can heal this child and I’m still asking Him to. 

And I have nothing to offer God in exchange for that—I come to Him with literally nothing but a request, night after night. When I’m in a selfish, self-centered mood and I’m not sure I can face God, Grace has brought me back, because this child needs to be healed. She needs strength and she needs to be held up. She needs us to lift her up by the arms and carry her—she needs to be lowered through the roof to Jesus. She needs the faith of other people—she needs us to ask for her; she’s tired.

Last time I felt like I was pulling the fire alarm, trying to get my readers to pray for her. Now I feel different. This isn’t a siren or a loud, desperate alarm. It’s a knock on the door—just a knock. 

I thought if I prayed loudly, God would heal her quicker. This is a long road. 

But I’m going to keep asking, begging, as if it’s day 1. And the Holy Spirit will intercede for her. And an army of people will press against the doorway of heaven for the sake of a teenage girl that God created in His image. 

Please. Amen. 

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