Recently, I had this radical experience that I feel can be only expressed as an offering of the Holy Spirit on behalf of Jesus Christ. It was obvious and reminded me of the power of my God.
Years ago, about 10 and a bit, I was working at the flower shop one early February evening. A familiar face came in. She was after an angel, a gift for a friend. It was then that I mustered the courage to ask her.
Oh phooey. Yup, I forgot some stuff.
This cute lady, Shannon, was a nurse. She was a nurse for her husband who happened to be on call the night that our Quincy fell off some stairs and broke her collar bone. This was well before Shannon came in for the angel. I’m sure this all makes sense, right? Ha. Let me back up a bit more.
My Quincy baby was an introvert from the day she was born and even though she was badly injured, she was tired, she was unfamiliar with this place, she went to the man in the untucked plaid shirt when he reached for her. He was the local doctor on call that evening at the small emergency room. It was a pretty cool moment for us. She was a fussy baby and toddler and having her be okay with anyone, much less a doctor, was amazing. We had just moved into town over the previous summer and we were thankful that following-up with the broken bone led us to have this doctor as our primary care provider for years to come.
We would have a baby the next winter and this same doctor would deliver our Tate. Actually, she mostly delivered herself, so serious, but he was there. His lovely wife brought us a sweet gift in the hospital. The nurse, Shannon, I mentioned earlier, this was her. So, we had this tiny relationship and then somehow connected on Facebook. A few winters would pass and her own sweet daughter got injured in a sledding accident. There was an amazing outpouring of public spiritual support offered to Shannon on behalf of her daughter. Prayers and all this talk about Jesus.
It was because of these comments and prayers to God that when Shannon came in to get that angel that day, I felt super safe and what must have been compelled by the Spirit to ask her about Jesus. I’m not exactly sure what my question was, but it was something about how she knew Jesus was the one. She said it was the peace she had in her life because of Him.
I did not understand what this meant.
Last week I posted an extremely vulnerable blog about some circumstances I was facing as a patient with Multiple Sclerosis, a business person, a mom, a wife, and daughter. I’ve struggled with depression and PTSD and anxiety with more depth and length than I would really like to admit.
Most recently, I was very discouraged.
I cried with emptiness. Tears and not much more. Holy Spirit pleading on my behalf. I confessed to my dear friend that I was so sad that my Savior could not protect me from this life right now. That the pain – emotional and physical – would go on for the rest of my life. I was so discouraged that it felt like the first time His love for me would be evident or felt, rather, would be when I got to heaven. A day or two after this confession, my husband shared a blog post that I wrote. He shared on Facebook and petitioned for prayer on my behalf.
There was more peace in my life in those days than I have felt in months. It is a direct reflection of the love of Christ and His response to His people. He may not take away the pain, He may not take away the problems, He may allow suffering and death and grief. But, no matter what you face, He will give you the peace, the strength, the love, and the fight to get through it. I believe that there is power in prayer – in solitude and emptiness as well as in multitudes – and that God delivers on the peace that Christ has promised to those who believe in Him.