I could feel my face turning a deep red as I tried to coax her out from underneath the chair.

I bargained. I affirmed. I bribed.

I pulled out every parenting whatever that you could possibly think of just to get her onto the exam table, including an oh so loving, “Suck it up, sister.”

Finally, I cried uncle.

I turned to him and said he’d need to get someone to help me lift her. I apologized all over myself. I think I even promised him cookies.

“It is just two shots, sister.” I said dismissively.

And then the screaming began.

Screaming that got louder and louder with every second that passed, only to crescendo into ear piercing when he returned with reinforcements.

It was about the time I thought about screaming too when I heard him say, “Can you put your hand on her chest?” I nodded and then I looked down at my girl. The moment I saw her face, any frustration and embarrassment I’d felt disappeared.

When I saw her tears, her fear, her pain, I stroked her face and said, “Look into my eyes, sister.” And the very second her eyes met mine, mine began to sting.

My girl hurt. My girl was afraid. My girl felt alone.

It was written all over her big brown eyes.

And as I held her gaze, I could not help think of two days earlier.

When I did something I have only done maybe three times in my life…

I cried because of physical pain.

Full-on sob, snotting and the like.

Just like my girl whose tears brought me to a place where I could see myself curled up on the floor begging for Him to take away my hurt, feeling scared and alone.

But as my hands drew up to cradle her face, I saw something different.

I saw a Father whose heart grieves over my pain. I saw His hands draw my face towards His. I saw His tears fall gently with mine.

No frustration. No embarassment. No sarcastic “Suck it up, Sara.”

Just a Father drawing near to a heartbroken me.

In so many ways, we seem to believe that our pain is met with a God who is standing in the corner saying, “Can you just get over this already?”

But He is not, friends.

Tears streaming down my face…

He. Is. Not.

He is present. He is near. He is standing right next to us, with His hand on our hearts, waiting for us to look deeply into His tear-filled eyes and know…

He will hold us through the storm and all the way Home.


2 thoughts on “Near

  1. Debbie McNeil says:

    Thank you for sharing the deep things. Brokenness can be beautiful when we remember who He is. So often I forget. 🙂

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