“You don’t have enough faith,” Jesus told them. “I tell you the truth, if you had faith even as small as a mustard seed, you could say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it would move. Nothing would be impossible.”
—Matthew 17:20 NLT
He had just returned to his room from breakfast. He had been unable to feed himself. He sat in his wheelchair, staring at the wall.
“Lynn is in the ICU. She may not make it!” He said. He was remembering a wreck I had in 1966. “And Laurelle totaled the Volvo,” he continued. His voice was rough and shaky as he talked about Mama and me.
My heart broke for him. His fear was tangible. I looked into his face. “I’m Lynn, Daddy. I’m fine.”
He did not see me. “Lynn may not make it,” he said again. “Her lung is punctured.”
“Lynn is fine, Daddy,” I told him once more. “And Mama is fine. She walked away from wrecking the Volvo. Don’t worry. They are both fine.”
I didn’t look as he remembered me in 1966 so he wasn’t sure who I was. Mama’s wreck happened in 1984. 1966 and 1984 were the same year to him this morning. He closed his eyes, and withdrew into his own world. The aide came in to help put him to bed. He had trouble transferring from the wheelchair. When he finally laid down, he couldn’t lift his legs to put them on the bed. His mind couldn’t tell his body what to do. So we lifted his legs and covered him with a blanket. He was sound asleep in a moment. Totally withdrawn from the reality of his life, he finally found a semblance of rest in sleep.
It is difficult to visit him not knowing how I will find him. Some days he is better, but more often now, times with him are heart-wrenching. To see this intelligent and gentle man continually suffering in this way, takes a little more out of my heart each time. When awake, his eyes, which once twinkled, now are dark and opaque and empty. He tosses suddenly on the bed. He is restless in his sleep now. I hold his hand. He doesn’t know that I’m there. Whatever fear he faces in sleep, I cannot help him.
Handling these times are getting harder. A little bit more of him is lost every day. I yearn for this mountain in his life to move—for freedom from this loss. I know that nothing is impossible with God. Yet I also know that I don’t have the answer to all the reasons of life. This isn’t punishment. This is life, and an opportunity for me to yield more and more to my Savior’s love and guidance. God is in control. I have His seed of faith alive in me. He gives me the strength to speak to my brokenness and encourage my own heart. Whatever comes, I can live in His peace. I can tell this mountain that it cannot destroy my peace. It might be just as large and real as it was the day before, but its power cannot defeat me. I shall become stronger because of it.
I pray for God’s peace to take over Daddy’s fear. In a few minutes, He is more at rest in sleep. His body relaxes against the turbulent bedding. And he sighs as if letting out all that has wreaked havoc in his mind. I see his little grin, and he laughs. “Peace be still,” I whisper in my heart. It is this day’s miracle. And it is enough. Daddy is here—if only in sleep. Nothing is impossible.
© 2017 Lynn Lacherwww. lynnlacher.com