My hand touched the back room shelf and I thought of him. I searched for toys in the shed and thought of him. With each move I made I realized that every corner of the house was infused with him. Even more, every corner of me was infused with him. My mind wrestled with thoughts of walking and talking and living in a world that he wasn't in and it just didn't make sense.
I realized that I wasn't praying. I had no words to pray because I felt eight years old and had no idea how to deal with sick Father. Dad is strong. Dad knows everything, can fix anything, Dad is calm...This isn't my Dad. This man...Father, I don't know how to pray for this.
And then these Words "In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans." Romans 8:26
Two days later, still on the ventilator, Dad woke up and wrote us a note that said "I'm fine, go home." The next day they extubated him with out any sign of trouble. When I walked in the room he said "hey kid," and I said "don't you ever do that to me again."
A week later he was home. A month later, his whole family was together under one roof.
Thankful doesn't seem like a big enough word, but I am.
Jesus that heard my wordless prayers.
Dad's health continues to improve. His doctor, the one who told me he would likely never come off the ventilator, gave him the most improved patient award.
Thank you for praying friends.
Grace and Peace