I am praying for a two year old who was airlifted from the Ivory Coast to a Paris hospital today. Her kidneys are not working and she is in trouble.
I am also praying for a little girl closer to home. Today an MRI showed that the headaches she’s been having may be the result of a cyst on her brain.
I found myself pleading with God to keep that two year old alive, to please help her. I found myself asking Him to relieve the other little girl’s head pain. To help her, too.
As if He needs to be begged to help. As if I care more about those little girls (whom I’ve never met) and their parents than He does. As if I have to beseech Him to get aboard the caring train.
So I’m changing my prayers from, “Please help them,” to “Thank you for helping them.”
I mean, isn’t the provision of an airlift to one of the best NICU’s in the world and the provision of an MRI proof that He already is helping?
I don’t have to ask Him to comfort the girls and their parents as they wait 12 long days for an appointment with a specialist and while they hold vigil beside a bed in a Paris NICU , He’s already comforting them. He’s already taken hold of their right hands. I’m just thanking Him for that and asking Him to give their hands a reassuring squeeze.
He’s not just the calm before the storm, He’s the calm during and after the storm, too.