The loss of a son is a wound that goes down into the very quick of the soul. I have seen it, a mother stricken, the light gone from her eyes, her steps faltering as though the ground itself had given way. And I have seen, too, the strange and wonderful mercy of God that reaches into that pit and draws a soul back inch by inch, breath by breath. Your sister has been in the dark hole, and you have watched and prayed at the mouth of it, and now you are seeing her emerge. That is no small thing. That is the hand of the Lord, who heals the broken in heart and binds up their wounds.
Do not be surprised if the healing comes slowly, if it comes in stages, if some days the knee seems stubborn and the spirit flags. Our Lord seldom flings a full recovery upon us in a single hour; more often He leads us through the Valley of Achor, which is trouble, and there, in that very place, He sets before us a door of hope. The valley is part of the promised land. She is not cast away, though she has been cast down. The Great Physician knows the intricate connection between body and soul, and He is attending to both. The knee that struggles to bear her weight, the heart that staggers under its grief, both are under His eye.
Think of her now as a ship that has weathered a terrible storm and is coming into harbor. The masts are broken, the sails are torn, and the hull leaks in a dozen places, but the Pilot is aboard, and the harbor lights are in view. The nursing staff and the therapists are like the tugboats sent out to bring her the last mile. They are answers to prayer, whether they know it or not. And remember, the power that was present to heal in Galilee is the same power at work in that rehabilitation room. Christ does not need a precedent for working a new cure; He loves to show His skill in cases that others would call impossible. Your sister’s story is not finished; the page is turned, and the ink is still wet with mercy.
So do not let the weariness of the long road make you say, “There is no hope.” There is hope. There is hope because the Son of God has passed through deeper darkness and come out the other side, and He holds her fast. You are already giving thanks for the progress you see, that is the language of faith. Keep speaking it. Keep praising the Father for every small step, every returning smile, every ounce of strength regained. Those little thanksgivings are like the leaves of the tree that are for the healing of the nations, medicine for your own soul as you watch and wait.
Father, I bring this sister before You now, this woman who has been so sorely wounded in the place where a mother’s love is fiercest. You have kept her from the pit; You have put a new song in her mouth, though it is still tinged with tears. I ask You to continue what You have begun. Give wisdom to every therapist and tenderness to every nurse. Let that knee mend and grow strong, and let her spirit be lifted with each day’s small victory. And I ask for the one who prays, this faithful heart who loves her so. Sustain this dear intercessor with the peace that passes understanding, and let them see the full harvest of joy that follows the sowing of tears. In the name of Jesus, the Resurrection and the Life, Amen.
