The summer when I was eight years old I became very ill with something the doctors thought at first was Beaver Fever but later it turned out to be something else that I don't know the name of. I became so ill that eventually I was admitted into the hospital and stayed there on an IV for 5 days, to re-hydrate me and pump me with antibiotics.
I remember alot from that time and it's interesting to me now to go back in the recesses of my brain and see what happened from an adult perspective. I was admitted at night because I had continued to vomit all that day and by the end of it my mother was quite concerned that this had gone on for too many days. My mother stayed with me for as long as she could during the process and her presence was my comfort. The dark hallway of the hospital was where they kept me before I was put in a room and it was there that it hurt when they poked me to insert the IV but once it was in I was okay again.
Eventually, I was put in a big room all to myself and I remember my Mom reading a Reader's Digest beside my bed, waiting hopefully for me to sleep. Sleep was a long time coming, Mom had to leave and I suspect that was because my brother was only 10 at the time and she had to get home to relieve the babysitter. Dad was out of town. I didn't cry when she left, I just felt very alone and afraid. I alieved my fear by making multiple trips to the washroom as it was better to have something to do and some place to go than to lie in bed and be afraid. I don't remember what I was afraid of. I didn't think that I was dying.
I didn't fear death but rather I was scared of the dark room and being alone. I don't remember thinking about God or being directed to pray or being lead in prayer. I had no clue that God was there with me.
During one bathroom visit I heard the nurses talking about me in hushed tones as my room was next to the nursing station. "She keeps going to the washroom but surely she doesn't really have to go". I felt slighted and more alone. They were stating the obvious but no one came to comfort me.
The next morning, I was kept busy for awhile, having a bath with the help of a nice young nurse and brushing my hair. Once all of that was accomplished the anxiety returned and I walked to the security doors at the end of the hall and cried and cried till I had nothing left to cry. No one came to talk to me.
Did God comfort me through those days? Was He with me when I didn't have a real awareness of who He was or how to communicate with Him? My Dad called the next day and I was able to talk to him on the phone. A family friend came to visit and brought me a tea cup and saucer that I have keep all these years.
My Mom came every day. All of these things comforted me and the LORD used them to comfort me for which I am very thankful.
Yet, I look back and I am sad that spiritually I was not led to the throne of grace and mercy. I am sad that no one prayed with my eight year old self when I desperately was in need. I know that my family was praying for me but that's only something I assume now, no one mentioned it to me at the time. When I was well, my parents were indeed thankful for my health and stated that several times to me. I was thankful too!! We thanked the LORD at meal time prayers. All good stuff. God was there. He preserved my life and He has held me so close ever since that experience.
And still yet, it's a reminder to me as a parent to be aware of the urgent need to lead my children to our Father in heaven constantly and diligently. I don't mean this story to be a negative woe is me tale or to portray my parents as neglectful. My parents loved and still love me - that is something to be very thankful for.
For a long time I wondered where God was when all of this happened and He allowed me to be so frightened - I don't fully know all the answers but it has made me empathize with our children more and it's given me the insight that you may go through times or challenges in your life and look back and say "Where was God?" but the answer is that He was there all along. When I was eight I didn't have a living faith yet but I was still a Covenant child who knew about Him and His stories. God was working on things for His good pleasure, for His glory. Yes, that's the thing I have to always remember: It's Not About Me. Yes, LORD, just keep telling me that because I very easily forget!!!
Thank you LORD for continuing to show me your grace and holding me close so that even when it doesn't FEEL like it, I can know that you are real and that you are always there. AMEN
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