Silas
Servant of All
Your body and your family are heavy on your heart, and the weight of it all has you crying out for even the smallest whisper from God. I want you to hear this: the paralysis you feel is not a punishment. The brain injury, the loss of movement, the fears about your daughter, the ache of your mother’s absence, these are not signs that you have been cast aside. The God who formed your brain’s intricate pathways, who designed every nerve and synapse, knows exactly what has been disrupted. And He is neither surprised nor distant.
When Jesus encountered ten men who were cut off from their lives by disease, He gave them an odd instruction: go and show yourselves to the priest. It was the first step toward restoration, before they saw any change in their condition. And as they went, they were healed. Sometimes the act of moving forward in obedience, even when nothing seems different, is where God meets us with His power. For you, that might look like entrusting this very cry to Him, letting Him read every frantic thought that flits across your tired mind, and then taking the one small step He sets before you today, whether it is resting, forgiving, or simply lifting your left hand as an offering, no matter how still it feels.
There was a father named Jairus who came to Jesus with a desperate plea: “My little daughter is at the point of death. Come and lay your hands on her, so that she may be made well and live.” Jesus started toward his house, but on the way He paused for a woman who had suffered for years. In that delay, Jairus received the worst news: his daughter was dead. Yet Jesus turned to him and said, “Do not fear, only believe.” He went to that home, took the girl by the hand, and brought her back from death itself. Your daughter is not beyond His reach. The squandered gifts, the lying, the wasted opportunity, none of it has caught Jesus off guard. Like the mother who fell at His feet begging for her demon-possessed daughter, you keep bringing your child before the only One who can break every chain. She is entering a new season; pray that her steps would be ordered, that the very gifts she has devalued would be restored to their right purpose. He is the Redeemer who can call a daughter back from a far country.
And what of your own mother, the one who left you in the ICU when you were helpless and alone on life support? The command to return to family and land came to Jacob after years of estrangement and fear. He had the promise of God, “I will be with you”, yet he was terrified of the brother he had wronged. As he went, he wrestled with God and with his past, and in that struggle he was given a new name and a limp that reminded him of both his weakness and God’s blessing. God may indeed restore a relationship with your mother, but it will not be on the terms of old wounds. It will require the hard grace of forgiveness you are already willing to extend, and it will demand that you wait for His timing. Like Naomi told Ruth, “Sit still, my daughter, until you learn how the matter turns out.” You do not know where she lives; you carry the pain of decades. That is not hidden from God. He can orchestrate a meeting, a letter, a change of heart. But for now, the invitation is to release her into His justice and mercy, trusting that He sees every abandoned moment and will, in His own way, make things right.
The fear that you are a filthy sinner being punished echoes the thoughts of many who have suffered. But when the woman with the issue of blood reached out in trembling faith, Jesus did not scold her for her unworthiness. He stopped everything, called her “Daughter,” and said, “Your faith has made you whole. Go in peace.” Wholeness came not because she had a perfect life, but because she turned to the healer. Your brain’s circuits may be quiet on one side, your left fingers still, but the same Jesus who felt power leave Him at her touch is attentive to you. He knows the longing for a dream or a vision; He also knows that His Spirit works often in the stillness, when the brain is not glutted with noise. In fasting or quietness, when the rush of sensations is stilled, the empty spaces invite His voice. He may speak through a remembered psalm, through a friend’s kindness, or through a sudden, unexplainable warmth of peace.
Your husband has borne exhaustion like a man carrying you on a mat to Jesus. The two of you, together, have been through the valley. Do not underestimate what it means that he has stayed. Love like that mirrors the agape love that pursues and covers. He is your family redeemer in daily, practical ways.
This season will not be the rest of your life. The paralysis you feel today is not a life sentence. Whether healing comes in a sudden wave, as it sometimes does, or through slow, painstaking restoration, do not stop taking those first steps of trust. Tell Jesus everything, the fear, the weariness of waiting, the sadness, and then dare to hear Him say to you, “Arise, take up your mat, and walk.” He is not done with your body, your daughter, or your story.
When Jesus encountered ten men who were cut off from their lives by disease, He gave them an odd instruction: go and show yourselves to the priest. It was the first step toward restoration, before they saw any change in their condition. And as they went, they were healed. Sometimes the act of moving forward in obedience, even when nothing seems different, is where God meets us with His power. For you, that might look like entrusting this very cry to Him, letting Him read every frantic thought that flits across your tired mind, and then taking the one small step He sets before you today, whether it is resting, forgiving, or simply lifting your left hand as an offering, no matter how still it feels.
There was a father named Jairus who came to Jesus with a desperate plea: “My little daughter is at the point of death. Come and lay your hands on her, so that she may be made well and live.” Jesus started toward his house, but on the way He paused for a woman who had suffered for years. In that delay, Jairus received the worst news: his daughter was dead. Yet Jesus turned to him and said, “Do not fear, only believe.” He went to that home, took the girl by the hand, and brought her back from death itself. Your daughter is not beyond His reach. The squandered gifts, the lying, the wasted opportunity, none of it has caught Jesus off guard. Like the mother who fell at His feet begging for her demon-possessed daughter, you keep bringing your child before the only One who can break every chain. She is entering a new season; pray that her steps would be ordered, that the very gifts she has devalued would be restored to their right purpose. He is the Redeemer who can call a daughter back from a far country.
And what of your own mother, the one who left you in the ICU when you were helpless and alone on life support? The command to return to family and land came to Jacob after years of estrangement and fear. He had the promise of God, “I will be with you”, yet he was terrified of the brother he had wronged. As he went, he wrestled with God and with his past, and in that struggle he was given a new name and a limp that reminded him of both his weakness and God’s blessing. God may indeed restore a relationship with your mother, but it will not be on the terms of old wounds. It will require the hard grace of forgiveness you are already willing to extend, and it will demand that you wait for His timing. Like Naomi told Ruth, “Sit still, my daughter, until you learn how the matter turns out.” You do not know where she lives; you carry the pain of decades. That is not hidden from God. He can orchestrate a meeting, a letter, a change of heart. But for now, the invitation is to release her into His justice and mercy, trusting that He sees every abandoned moment and will, in His own way, make things right.
The fear that you are a filthy sinner being punished echoes the thoughts of many who have suffered. But when the woman with the issue of blood reached out in trembling faith, Jesus did not scold her for her unworthiness. He stopped everything, called her “Daughter,” and said, “Your faith has made you whole. Go in peace.” Wholeness came not because she had a perfect life, but because she turned to the healer. Your brain’s circuits may be quiet on one side, your left fingers still, but the same Jesus who felt power leave Him at her touch is attentive to you. He knows the longing for a dream or a vision; He also knows that His Spirit works often in the stillness, when the brain is not glutted with noise. In fasting or quietness, when the rush of sensations is stilled, the empty spaces invite His voice. He may speak through a remembered psalm, through a friend’s kindness, or through a sudden, unexplainable warmth of peace.
Your husband has borne exhaustion like a man carrying you on a mat to Jesus. The two of you, together, have been through the valley. Do not underestimate what it means that he has stayed. Love like that mirrors the agape love that pursues and covers. He is your family redeemer in daily, practical ways.
This season will not be the rest of your life. The paralysis you feel today is not a life sentence. Whether healing comes in a sudden wave, as it sometimes does, or through slow, painstaking restoration, do not stop taking those first steps of trust. Tell Jesus everything, the fear, the weariness of waiting, the sadness, and then dare to hear Him say to you, “Arise, take up your mat, and walk.” He is not done with your body, your daughter, or your story.
