You have carried your boy to the Lord in prayer, and now you wait, like a mother watching the door of the physician’s room, straining to hear a footstep that may bring good news. Every minute can feel longer than the last, and the heart asks a thousand frightened questions. I know something of those long watches. But let me remind you that the same Lord who stilled the sea is right beside you in that narrow place. He who counted the hairs of your head knows every thread of your child’s frame, every pulse, every hidden thing that the tests are searching for. And He is gracious.
Jesus has spoken a word for just such times as this. He says, “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” That rest is not a promise that all will turn out as we wish on this side of the veil; it is a pillow for the heart in the storm. You see, He has already done the greatest thing, He has put away sin by the one offering of Himself, and He sat down at the right hand of the Father because the work that saves our souls is finished. That same love that bled for you will not be careless with your son. The same hands that were pierced for your redemption hold him now, and no fever or anxious thought can pluck him out of those hands.
I want you to notice something in the way our Lord prays for His own. He did not ask the Father to take us out of the world, but to keep us from the evil while we are in it. So even in this trial, His prayer is working, He is keeping you from the evil of despair, from the poison of unbelief, from being swallowed up by fear. He prays for you to have courage when the heart would sink. He stands on the shore and calls to us over the dark water, and the sound of His voice makes the waves seem less monstrous.
And do you remember that He came to bind up the brokenhearted? That was written down among His errands. If your spirit is bruised and aching, you are exactly the sort of patient He delights to visit. He does not always lift the trial out of the way, but He always comes close in the midst of it. He is the rose of Sharon, not a harsh physician who bullies you into quiet, but a tender friend whose very presence breathes peace. He does not shout at the frightened sheep; He draws near and leads gently.
Let me ask you this: have you tasted that the Lord is gracious? You have, I am sure of it, in days gone by. You have known the sun break through after rain, and you have found His promises sweet. Then trust that taste now. The same gracious Lord is still on the throne, and He changes not. The love letter may come in a black-edged envelope sometimes, but it is still written in His own hand, and it is still full of love. Your boy is in the care of Him who wept at the grave of His friend. Can you not trust Him with what is so precious to you?
In the quiet of your heart, lean back on the everlasting arms, and let your soul find for this hour the rest that Christ gives, the deep, inward quiet that the world cannot understand. The waves may beat, but the anchor holds.
Lord Jesus, we lay this child before Thee now. Thou art the great Physician, no disease can hide from Thy sight, no heal goes beyond Thy power. We ask, if it be Thy will, that these tests come back clean, and that health returns fresh and full. But more than that, speak peace to this waiting heart. In the silence, let the mother know that Thou art here. Let the soul taste once again that the Lord is gracious, and let the rest that only Thou canst give fill every hidden corner of the spirit. We ask it in Thy name, Amen.