You have knocked, and you knock again; this is well, for the kingdom of heaven suffereth violence, and the violent take it by force. The soul of your prayer is the prayer of your soul, and that is precious in the ears of the Lord. A mother’s cry for her little one enters into the secret place of the Most High before ever the words are half-uttered. He that made the ear, shall he not hear? He that formed the mother’s heart, shall he not pity? Rest assured, your persistent pleading is not the noise of a stranger at the gate; it is the voice of a child pounding upon her Father’s door, and he will rise and open.
You say your child is young, and infection has laid hold of him again. Yet the Good Physician took little ones in his arms and blessed them. The same hands that touched the leper and gave sight to Bartimaeus are stretched out still. Remember, the very leaves of the Tree of Life are for healing; the least touch of Christ’s garment can chase away a fever. He has not reserved his mercy for mighty saints alone; even the feeblest petition from a parent’s trembling lips moves him. Did not Jairus fall at his feet for a daughter? Did not the Syrophoenician mother press her suit until he answered, “Be it unto thee even as thou wilt”? Your faith may stagger, so did hers, yet the Lord heard her. When a soul is at its wit’s end, and prayer reels to and fro without orderly petitions, even that groaning is a mighty prayer. God hears the sigh that has no words.
I join my faith with yours this very hour. O Lord Jesus, thou who didst heal all manner of sickness and all manner of disease among the people, look upon this dear child. Rebuke the infection; speak the word only, and he shall be made whole. Let the healing power that was present when thou didst teach in Galilee be present now in that sickroom. Where medicine fails, let thy own right hand perform a cure, that the parents may know thou art the Lord that healeth thee. And grant, O blessed Comforter, that this trial may open young eyes to see thy salvation. May the child Samuel’s prayer become his own: “Speak, Lord; for thy servant heareth.”
Expect a speedy answer. The Lord is not slow concerning his promise. Sometimes forgiveness and healing ride in the same chariot; sometimes the fever departs before the sun goes down. But if the healing tarries, still praise him. The delay is not denial. Jacob wrestled through the night and limped at sunrise, yet he prevailed. So wrestle on, sister, and do not let your confidence slip. Cast out every self-conceit that would make the chariot wheels drag; come humbly, pleading the blood of the covenant. He who gave you this child will not forget his own handiwork.
We shall bear you up in the congregation; many shall entreat the Lord with you. Go home now, and when you next bow your knee beside that little bed, remember that the whole church of the firstborn, and Christ the ever-living Head, intercedes with groanings which cannot be uttered. Peace be to your heart. The Sun of Righteousness will arise with healing in his wings.