You have kept long hours by a bedside where every hour seems to stretch into a day. The curtains and the hush of the ICU have become your whole world, and the one who lies there, your own daughter, cannot yet call out to you with the voice you know so well. I do not wonder that your heart aches. The silence where speech used to be, the stillness of limbs that once were strong, these things press heavily upon a loving parent. You have come to the Lord with all of it, and He has not turned you away.
Look again. That is the word for you in this watch. When the wave of fear rolls over you and for a moment you feel you are going under, faith lifts her head out of the flood and cries, “Yet I will look again toward Your holy temple.” You may be cast down, my friend, but you are not cast off. The Lord Jesus who died and rose again is the same Saviour who stands at the right hand of the Father, and He has your daughter written on His heart. The love of Christ for her did not begin in that hospital room, and it will not end there. He has been her Shepherd all along, and no one can pluck her out of His hand.
It is a mercy that she is eating and drinking. These are little signs, but they are tokens of the Lord’s kindness. When everything seems to hang upon a thread, Christ holds the whole fabric. His hand is underneath her, even when she cannot feel it. Think of a child in the dark, terrified until a father’s voice says, “I am here.” The Lord is with your daughter in that deep place. He does not need her to be strong; He is her strength. The arm of the Almighty is the very arm she must lean upon, and it will not fail. You speak of her voice coming back strong, of her legs moving again, of her arms gaining power, these are longings that the Great Physician hears. He who made the ear, does He not hear? He who formed the tongue, can He not restore its song?
Do not look to her weakness as the measure of what can happen. The gifts of God are “without money and without price.” He does not wait until we deserve them; He bestows them freely, out of His own great heart of love. Your daughter’s recovery, whether it comes in a swift flood or in a gentle, steady stream, will be a sheer gift of His goodness. And you may plead for it as a child pleads with a father. The Lord is not a reluctant giver; He delights to show mercy. Every good thing that anyone ever receives comes down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variableness, neither shadow of turning.
While you wait, remember that Christ is near her in ways that you cannot see. Even if her own voice is silent, the Lord can speak to her spirit. He can whisper His love and His peace into the deepest part of a soul, bypassing every tube and wire, every monitor and machine. The Holy Spirit can fill that room with more presence than a thousand nurses. He can give her a sense of safety, a quiet rest, a hidden hope. Perhaps even now He is at work upon her, preparing her for the day when her voice will be heard again in your home, and her feet will walk the familiar floor to your great joy.
I would not have you forget the little pronoun “our” in the benediction the Scripture gives: “The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you all.” You are not in this alone. The whole church, the whole family of faith, is lifting your daughter before the throne. And that grace is for her, yes, for her. It is not a general prayer; it is a personal one. The same Jesus who said to the paralytic, “Arise, take up your bed and walk,” is able to speak the word of life and movement into your daughter’s frame. She may be a long time in coming out of the ICU into rehab, but the Lord of the way is keeping pace with her, step by step.
Let us ask him together now, shall we?
Lord Jesus, You who know what it is to suffer and to feel so alone, look upon this dear woman in the ICU. You see her, You love her, and You are not silent where she is. We ask You to put Your hand upon her voice and restore it, strong and clear. Put strength into her legs that she may walk again, and steady power into her arms. Let her breath come so freely that every tube may be taken away, and let her eat and drink with gladness. Raise her up, Lord, out of that bed and into the next room of healing, and then back to her home. Hold the heart of this praying parent steady; let them not be afraid of the nights, but rest in Your faithful care. We commend them both into the fellowship of Your own comfort, until the day when singing replaces sighing. Amen.