Walking With My Brother

My daughter caught one of these darn bugs that are going around this winter.

We get particularly concerned about her because these bugs can often trigger her asthma. So, when she called to tell me she was at Urgent Care one Sunday night, I was immediately lifting her up in prayer, asking that God strengthen her systems against the infection.

The UC doctor gave her a prescription that seemed to help a bit at first, but I could still hear her labored breathing as we spoke on the phone. She insisted that her workload didn’t allow her to stay home and rest, or to take time for Urgent Care again. Her regular doctor was booked. As much as I might applaud her work ethic, I worried about her need to take time to care for herself and get well.

Finally, after a couple more days of concern, I stopped and engaged more directly with God, more impeachingly [Editor Angel: is “impeachingly” a word? hmmm, don’t know. It should be.] I acknowledged that I didn’t know what my daughter needed to get well, but that He did…does; that I have no control, no real ability to help, but that He did…does; that all I can do is pray for His help and intervention with her.

Amazingly, (I don’t know why I am continually amazed that God answers my prayers. It is after all, what He said He’d do) within the next few hours, she texted me to say she had remembered a prescription that her regular doctor had given her for just such a situation and that she had begun already to take it.

What causes one faith-filled prayer for healing to be answered and others to seemingly be ignored? I don’t have that answer.

I do know that these everyday acts of healing are some of God’s miracles in my world. Thank you, Lord!