“Oh, Father, help me.”
“Jesus, take me home.”
These words flow freely out of the woman’s mouth who has prayed for me possibly more than anyone else has. Helpless cries for herself. Begging for mercy. Relief from the confusion. Begging to go home.
And then, the words, “Thank you, Father”.
At 97, my grandmother’s mind has been ravaged by dementia. She doesn’t remember much about anything, and talks mostly of her childhood. She doesn’t know my name, or most days even recognize my face. She doesn’t know what year it is or what town she lives in.
“Make me true to You”
These words etch themselves onto my heart.
One thing she does remember. Who to call on in her despair.
She understands the mystery.
God welcomes our pleas, He yearns to hear us pour out our heart to him. He longs to fill up our empty places.
Gratitude and surrender are the keys that unlock the healing that we beg for.
Perspective is found in submitting to His wisdom. His timing. His answers.
Even when God says, “Wait.”, “Not yet.”, or “No.”. I can trust Him even then.
When I leave to go, my grandma has fallen asleep, and is resting until He takes her home.
Until he takes me home, I will yet praise Him.