One week ago, Henry died.
I know it seems crazy to write this, but I never saw it coming. The day after Henry died, I went running. (a new thing for me). There are some conversations I can have with God only while my legs are moving and my breath hurts in the winter air. Henry's death was one of those those things.
I felt like all my prayer intentions for Mr. H were like crumpled sheets of paper after his death. Messy notes I had to pass over to God weeks before I was ready for the final draft. It was hard.
I really thought that Henry's spinal surgery would work and one day he would walk--right here on earth. Henry's Mom went through a lot of painful suffering during his many hospital stays. It was easy for me to remain hopeful and prayerful during her struggles because I had such a clear mental image of Henry running into his mother's arm around age 4. "This is all so hard for Carla right now," I'd think. "Yet it will all be worth it when Henry can run!"
God's ways are not our ways.
It's really hard when the things that we ask for from God don't happen. Especially, when we said our prayers with confidence and trust.
Henry's death is a reminder to me of my humility. My prayers are not magic spells. God's ways are far, far above my own--and his plans are far better than I can see in the moment.
Bonnie's son, James, was a lesson to me that no prayer intention is too "hard" for God to fix. I need to confidentially pray my heart out for even the most seemingly hopeless medical cases.
Henry's death is a different lesson. Henry teaches me that my prayers are never, ever wasted. I might not see the results that I'd like to witness on earth--but my messy prayer notes are always treasured by God. My prayerful heart make a difference, however, small. Prayer is time well spent.
Pray for us, Mr. H. We miss you!
