Holding your hands.
Letting unabated tears roll off of cheeks your cheeks and mine.
Fighting the urge to dry them and cheapen them as weakness.
Allowing tears to represent the same tenderness that beckoned them.
I work in an Intensive Care Unit.
On a weekly basis, I suffer from compassion fatigue.
On a monthly basis I am gifted with few human connections that remind me why I do, what I do.
Our eyes meet and yours are searching.
Looking for answers, craving for hope, pleading for a miracle.
Overwhelmed with a grim prognosis.
I have no words.
You can see in my eyes that I am bankrupt for answers.
You squeeze my hands tighter.
And The Spirit intervenes.
Filling me with His compassion and truth.
I am reminded that we have already received our miracle.
Our miracle came 2,000 years ago in the form of Jesus.
He came and died that we might be free.
He has reserved for us a seat at The Father's table.
And died so that we might live and live eternally.
We are here, begging for healing and a happy ending.
But in Your kindness, You foresaw our needs, and met them in Jesus.
Our desperation redirects its focus.
Together now, we ask that the Shalom of Jesus bask the lives of the loved ones.
Those who are left behind.
We ask for strength to move on.
Restoration for the empty places that are void of loved ones.
Courage to say {and mean} Your will be done.
You are a kind Father, my heart is well acquainted with Your faithfulness.
Xo
Kel
*Updates to come. It feels like an eternity since I've been on here.
