I found a scrunched up piece of paper with something I’d scribbled while sat at a hospital bedside a few years ago. It’s true – I had forgotten.
“Only someone who has sat helplessly in the back of an ambulance listening to the monitor’s beep-beep-beep could know of the appeals a heart can make to God. Only someone who has watched the drip-pause-drip of an IV could guess the tricks that time can play. How slow, how fast, both at once. Life moves, changes, and you are caught in a chain of events beyond your control. But not His. So you remember Him, and you make your desperate appeal, “Please God, let it all be OK. Somehow. No matter how bad it seems right now.”
And then, slowly, step by step, it is. OK. Nearly, but not quite, normal. And you catch your breath, testing and not quite trusting. “Can I breathe again?”. And somewhere within you know that this thing we call ‘ok’, this ‘normal’, is a mirage, just a thin veil against all those things that are not…that are glaringly anything but ok. Yet that is where we live our lives, upon that thin crust, trusting in its ability to carry our weight – always. And whenever the illusion cracks, we scramble like drowning ants for the security of its shores. Most things are *not* ok. But like the temporal blinkered beings we are, if we are safely delivered back to that thin ice , we pull across the veils and cocoon ourselves tightly within again. And forget.”