It’s Sunday morning and our pastor invites us to pray silently for the person on our right and then the person on our left. My Rhema-girl is on my left, sitting between Brandon and me. She’s humming softly, continuously, as she colors papers on her lap. Her dress, fingers and nose are marker-stained as usual. She’s had a string of good days and we’ve been basking in her, the light in her smile and eyes.
The pastor has been teaching from Psalm 42 where David is struggling with despair and depression, “where tears are his food day and night.” And I think, don’t we all feel it? When the hurting, fighting, suffering stretches from Baghdad to Ferguson to here.
Hope thou in God, David tells himself. And we are reminded: There is never a time when we may not hope in God. He is our hope.
I bow my head to intercede for the man on my right – the husband of a dear friend, and it is such an honor to pray for him and his family. Then I turn to Rhema knowing that Brandon has already petitioned God on her behalf, like Jairus falling on his knees, he’s taken her and lifted her up. As she hums beside me, I am overcome. Because it is a gift, such a precious gift to pray over my daughter and trust that I am heard. Just simple, heartfelt prayers of a mama as a new school year begins. And it’s the best and all I have. I know too well that the dark days will come, so I ask Him to be with her and hold her in the ways I can’t. That she would know Him near. My heart is filled with all the reasons for joy and hope; God is not limited by “nonverbal autism” and He speaks her language perfectly. She’s His.
“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope…” ~Rom. 15:13