Touching God

TOUCHING GOD

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There are no words.

If this wordless anguish is my prayer, Lord, You know it is all I 

have. 

They say my child is dying.

Like my terror, he is fully grown.

A man and yet, still, my child. 

My dying child. 

I stand here unable to speak..

only reaching for a touch.

Touching God.

I think of that woman, touching Jesus’ hem.

To touch the hem of a garment you must bend low.

Kneeling in the dust.

Wordless, I am here, kneeling in the dirt, meeting my need for comfort

and my son’s great need

to be healed. 

I wait here

on my knees. 

Jesus’ hem

Unlike the woman at Jesus’ hem on that long-ago day, I don’t hurry on.

I have nowhere to go.

Here touching God is all

there is.

All other thoughts are nonexistent.

You have healed him spiritually.  

I’ve known that a long long while now.

 I thank you for that beyond words.

I ache wanting physical healing for him too. The mother-heart in me wants him well.

I want to see him rise up

strong

and well

and laughing.

I’ve forgotten how to laugh.

My child is dying

They said my CHILD is DYING, You see.

But You know that, Lord,

and You are in control.

I stay in the dust at Jesus’ hem and rest and wait.

I weep no tears for there are no more tears within me. 

They have all been shed in a waterfall

of grief before death. 

And so I wait, kneeling.

Daring to cling to the hem of Your garment.

Daring for my child.

Daring for our needs.

Daring

to be touching God.

I sense more than feel Your touch. 

My soul responds with a rush of memory. 

The child birthed in a blinding flash of pain. 

This child. 

This gift from You

to me. 

Have I thanked You

Have I ever thanked You enough?

It is beyond my human understanding to know how to thank You, enough. 

All the years when skinned knees and broken toys were the only sorrows. 

Did I ever thank You enough, Lord? 

The joy You daily lavished.

 I gasp in breathless recall of the hours

 of such bliss. 

 And not just THIS child.

 I birthed sons 

 and daughters. 

 You made me a mother many times. 

 Have I thanked You enough, Lord?

I am prone in the dust now, weeping. 

I let go of the hem and raise my hands in praise. 

Your gifts outnumbered the pain. 

You remind me

Then You remind me that healing of my son’s soul 

Is of all gifts the greatest. 

You remind me that

Your Son makes ready 

My son’s room. 

Through tears, I whisper 

“God, forgive me. “

And You do. 

You forgive my ingratitude

and You raise me up-

Up from the dust and tears

 And anguish.

You remind me that

before 

and 

after

You take him — Home,

I have a son who LIVES. 

I know. I know. 

I know

that You, 

O Precious God,

have healed …

my son

and my Soul

with Your Touch…

!