I spent the night holding my Justin, lying next to him in his hospital bed. Holding him while he cried in pain. Cried in fear. Cried in anger. His five-year-old mind does not understand why he has an IV in his arm, blood dripping from his nose and throbbing pain in his bones.
I stepped out of the room when I felt the lump in my throat threatening to dissolve into sobs. I stood in the hallway, desperately trying to catch my breath. I caught the eye of Justin’s Doctor. He moved toward me but I turned away. He said, “I can’t imagine…”
But I cut him off. “Please don’t be nice to me right now,” I said. And hearing myself say that, I added “I’m sorry.” I knew if I saw kindness or sympathy in his eyes right at that moment, I might never stop crying. And I needed to pull myself together. Justin needs me to be strong. I don’t want him to see me cracking.
I am cracked but I am not broken.
“The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears them; he delivers them from all their troubles. The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. The righteous person may have many troubles, but the Lord delivers him from them all;”