Believe

And I’m in that place once again.  That place between faith and despair, between believing and wanting to believe. As I write this, I am sitting beside my daughter’s hospital bed, she has been here four days and so have I. Her level of disability is severe.  Sleeping next to her on a cot each night, we typically have periods of conversation, some serious, some funny. I am doing what I can to minister to her with great love and care, helping her get comfortable, helping her eat and advocating for her.  However, I cannot begin to reach the level of ministering she has done for me.  I marvel at my daughter, her outlook is so filled to the brim with love and confidence in her healing.  She has touched my heart so deeply and she continually refreshes my spirit. The sweetest part is, she doesn’t even know she’s doing it.
When I consider my faith, I sometimes imagine myself as the character, Susie, from “Miracle on 34th St” on the way home after the party at the nursing home, she sits in the car gazing out the window repeating, “I believe, I believe, it’s silly but I believe”.  But it isn’t silly, not when God is involved (which is always).
I think I have a good idea how the father in Mark 9 felt just before Jesus drove the demons out of his son, a desperate faith cries out in verse 24, “I believe!  Help me overcome my unbelief!”  Funny, isn’t it, we ask God to do everything for us, even believing.  Wonderful, isn’t it, he does it too!
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