You are watching the one you love face a deep, dark valley, and your own heart is wrung with fear. You look at the surgery, at the frailty of her body, at the circulation that falters, and your mind can only whisper what you have already said: she would not survive. That fear is a weight, and I would not brush it away with easy words. But come, sit and let me put a question to you. If the sea raged and the ship were about to break apart, would you tell the captain that the storm is greater than his skill? No, you would stand and watch what he can do. And here, in your dear mother’s trouble, you are looking at the storm. Look now at the Captain. For the Lord Jesus Christ holds the hearts of all men in His hands; the circulation of the blood is no hidden mystery to Him who made us. He who formed her in the secret places of the earth knows every artery and valve, and He is not standing by as one helpless, wringing His hands. He is present, and the power of the Lord is present to heal.
I know the voice that says, “But what if the worst comes?” Yet listen again to the Scriptures: do you hear how many times the Lord says, “Fear not”? They are scattered like wildflowers in a spring meadow, you cannot walk three steps without finding another. To the worm Jacob, to the trembling heart, to the soul facing the impossible, He says it again and again: “Fear not, for I am with you.” It is not a scolding command; it is a father’s hand slipped into a child’s in the dark. He knows we are dust. He knows our frame. And to you, right now, He speaks that same tender word: “Fear not.” Not because the danger is unreal, but because He is really with you in it.
Perhaps you think, “But I have prayed and she is not yet well.” Ah, and that is the very place where faith learns to wait. You remember that the Lord Jesus never came late to a sickbed; He always arrived at the right hour, when the water was already being heated for the burial, when the mourners had begun their dirge. And then He spoke, and the dead sat up, and the pulse beat again. His power has not diminished. The hand that held the stars in their courses is the hand that was once dandled on His mother’s knee, and it is the hand that now holds your mother’s heart. You cannot trust a surgeon’s skill, noble as it is, as you may trust the living God. He can mend without the knife if He wills; He can steady what is failing; He can carry her through the operation and out the other side into health. Nothing is too hard for Him. You are not praying to a far-off judge but to Jesus, the Beloved Physician, who never turned a sick soul away and who counts the beating of every pulse as His own concern.
Let me give you a homely picture. Have you ever seen a child cling to her mother’s hand in a crowd, unable to see the way ahead, yet perfectly content because that hand is strong and familiar? That is your place now. You do not see the way; the future is a thick fog. But your Father’s hand is holding you, and it is holding her. You have cast yourselves on Him, and He will not drop you. The promise is written across the whole Bible: “I will help you, says the Lord, and your Redeemer the Holy One of Israel.” He is not a God who thunders from a distance and then leaves us to piece together the broken shards. He comes near, right down into the sickroom, right into the operating theater, right into the chaos of our fears, and He whispers, “I have redeemed you. You are Mine.”
And if, for even here we must rest in His will and not our own understanding, if the shadow should fall differently than we long for, still He is good. Those who dwell in the land above have no need of healing leaves, for the Tree of Life grows on either side of the river, and its fruit is for everlasting health. But while we pray, we pray with hope, because we know that Christ’s business is to heal. He came not to destroy but to save. The power that calmed the sea, that cast out devils, that opened blind eyes, that raised the dead, that very power is present to heal her. And if it is present, then you may stand still and see the salvation of God. Your part is not to invent a rescue but to trust the Rescuer.
Let me pray with you now.
Lord Jesus, we bring this dear woman before You, a lamb of Your flock, weak in body and facing a great trial. You know every chamber of her heart, every vessel that labors to carry life through her frame. We ask You, with all the earnestness of trembling faith, to put forth Your healing power. Calm what is erratic, strengthen what is feeble, and restore what is failing. Guide the hands of surgeons if they must operate, and be their wisdom and their strength; but we ask first and most that You would heal her, that she might yet rise from her bed to praise Your name. For this dear child of Yours who watches and weeps, speak peace to the storm within. Lift the weight of fear and replace it with the quiet confidence that You are in the tempest, and the wind and waves obey You. We cast ourselves on You, helpless, but holding fast to the hem of Your garment. In Your great name, Lord Jesus, amen.