You bring your skin and the anxious thoughts that creep across your mind, and you ask the Lord to quiet them both, and that is no small thing to lay before Him. It is the very kind of petition He welcomes, because it comes from a place where you feel your own weakness, and that is where His strength loves to make its home.
Think of it this way. All the water in the sea never harms a ship as long as it stays outside the hull. The danger begins when it gets inside. So it is with these fears about your body. The blemish, the spot, the twinge you noticed yesterday, they are outside things, floating on the surface of your life. But the anxiety, that is water seeping into the hold. And the Lord who stilled the storm with a word is able to keep the interior of your vessel dry and quiet, even while the waves outside still roll. He does not always calm the sea the moment we ask, but He promises to calm the sailor. Let not your heart be troubled.
I have noticed that much of our misery comes from staring too long at the one thing we lack and forgetting that we already possess the one thing needful. You have Christ. If you did not, you would not be praying this prayer. You would not care whether God noticed your skin or your nerves. But you do care, and that care itself is a hopeful sign, it proves your heart has been turned in the right direction. The worldling cries, "Who will show us any good?", a dozen different goods, a hundred remedies, a thousand reassurances. But you have brought your desires into a single channel: you want the Lord to draw near and speak peace. That is the mark of a soul already taught by grace. You could try to soothe yourself with promises from the pharmacy or the mirror, but you have come instead to the throne. That is faith, even if it feels like a trembling one.
Now as to those blemishes, those issues that trouble your eye and your thought. I would not dismiss them lightly, for our Lord does not dismiss the smallest care of His people. But will you let me put a question to you? If Christ has healed the great wound of your sin, will He be indifferent to the lesser troubles of your flesh? He who bore the crown of thorns upon His own brow, does He not know something about physical suffering and humiliation? He who was marred more than any man, does He turn away from your small marrings? No, a thousand times no. The very fact that He took a body like yours means He has consecrated every ache, every infirmity, every anxious glance we cast at our own frailty. And consider this: sometimes the Lord permits a thorn in the flesh to remain so that we may learn to trust Him without seeing, to rest in Him without the crutch of perfect health. The heath in the desert that sees neither dew nor rain, that is the man who trusts in his own arm. But the tree planted by the waters, spreading out its roots by the river, does not see when heat comes. Its leaf remains green. You shall be that tree if you learn to draw your peace from Him and not from a flawless complexion or a perfectly quiet pulse.
I will tell you a secret about indoor work. When David said, "Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless His holy name," he was busy with what goes on inside the heart. That is the work that pays best. Wear the flower called heart's-ease in your buttonhole, and you may go merrily through a wilderness of trouble. The hurricane may beat about you, but the elements of blessedness are within, where God has placed them, and the devil himself cannot snatch them away. So speak to your own soul. Tell it that God is holy, and there is none like Him. Tell it that He is your rock, and there is no rock like our God. When the anxious thought rises, meet it with a word about Him. Do not argue with the fear; sing to it. A little bird in the bosom that chirps of the love of God will drown out a great many fretful voices.
And if the answer seems slow in coming, if the relief you seek lingers, do not think yourself rejected. I have seen the sunrise on a foggy English morning, and I could scarcely tell you the moment the light first broke. There was a grayness, then a little more, then a little more, until at last the day had fully dawned. So is the work of grace in many a soul. The full assurance of health restored, or the perfect calm of nerves settled, may come gradually. But the sun is rising, and it will not go back. Your Lord has bound Himself to you by a covenant that cannot fail. The barrel of meal did not waste, nor did the cruse of oil fail, according to the word of the Lord. Your supply of patience, your store of peace, your daily bread of comfort, these shall not run dry.
So lift your head, dear heart. You are not cast off. You are not forgotten. The very prayer you breathed is proof that the Spirit moves within you, and where He moves, He will finish what He began.
Lord Jesus, You who touched the leper and made him clean, You who felt the woman’s trembling hand upon the hem of Your garment, look now upon this dear one who seeks You. Still the waters within. Quiet the restless watching and the weary wondering. Take these cares about the body and fold them up in Your own wounded hands. And grant, O Good Physician, that whether the outward ailment goes or stays, the inward peace may settle deep and remain undisturbed. For You are our health, and You are our hope. Amen.