If you are in immediate danger, please contact your local emergency services right away. For a confidential helpline in your country, visit
findahelpline.com. Now, let me speak to the heart of your trouble.
Your words came tumbling out like a cry in the dark, and I can feel the weight of them. You are very unwell, your body is rebelling against you, the blood sugar swinging wildly, the deep acids of metabolic disorder wearing you down. You have been driven to your knees, and from that place you have gasped again and again, “Lord, please help me. Please.” And you have done the very best thing a soul can do: you have thrown yourself upon Jesus, pleading His own dear name. Do you think He turned away from such a prayer as that? Never.
I want you to see a picture. It was evening in Galilee, and the shadows were lengthening. They had brought out the sick on their mats and laid them along the streets, and as far as the Savior’s eye could see there was nothing but broken bodies and pleading faces. Some were twisted with pain, others raved in fever, and the air was heavy with groaning. And Jesus went among them, the great Physician, and He did not flinch. He laid His hand on one and the pain fled. He spoke a word to another and the evil spirit came out. A look, a touch, a whisper, and the sicknesses melted before Him. He was bearing their griefs and carrying their sorrows, taking their infirmities upon Himself. And He is the same tonight. He is as tender now as He was then. Your desperate “pleases” have reached His ear, and He knows every throb of your weak frame. He knows what metabolic acidosis means, He who knit your body together in the womb understands all its delicate balances and how they have gone wrong. And He cares.
You may feel as though you are clinging to a rope in a storm, with the waves breaking over your head. But I would have you know that the ship is not abandoned. The Lord is in the vessel with you, even if at this moment He seems silent. Remember that mother from the borders of Tyre and Sidon, who came begging for her daughter. At first, Jesus answered her not a word. Not a word! Yet she kept worshipping and crying, “Lord, help me!” And at last He turned, and with a voice like music He said, “O woman, great is your faith: be it unto you even as you will.” Her persistent pleading brought the blessing. So it is with you. The silence is not a refusal; it is the drawing out of a faith that clings all the harder.
I cannot tell you that all your symptoms will disappear this hour, for our Lord’s timetable is His own, and sometimes He lets the thorn remain that His strength might be perfected in weakness. But this I can proclaim over you with utter certainty: He will not let you sink. The everlasting arms are underneath you, even now. When you cannot lift your head, He will lift it for you. When your heart beats erratically, His love beats steadily over you. You are not alone in the darkness, a Father’s hand is gripping yours, though your fingers may be too numb to feel the pressure.
Fix your eyes not on the coming of the healing, but on the Healer Himself. He was wounded for your transgressions, bruised for your iniquities; the chastisement of your peace was upon Him, and with His stripes you are healed. That is the great anchor of your soul. He has already done the greater work in carrying away your sins. Will He not with Himself freely give you all things? Yes, even the mending of this poor mortal frame in His own wise time, or the far better gift of His all-sufficient grace while you wait.
So keep praying, keep breathing the name of Jesus, for it is ointment poured forth. And when the words will not come, let your silence be a leaning upon His chest.
Lord Jesus, You who walked the lanes of Palestine and left behind You a trail of wholeness, look upon this suffering one. You see the shaking hands, the frayed nerves, the acid burning in the blood. Speak peace to this weary frame. Quiet the storm within, and grant that healing virtue may flow from You to do what medicine alone cannot. But above all, give a sweet sense of Your nearness, that even on this sickbed there may be a foretaste of heaven. We commit this dear soul into Your tender keeping, for You are the Lover of men, the Restorer of all that is broken. Amen.