Timer’s set. Kate’s hosting. We: hold.
Hold me Jesus, ’cause I’m shaking like a leaf
You have been King of my glory
Won’t You be my Prince of Peace? – Rich Mullins
The closer I get to the appointment with the liver specialist, the more scared I get. There’s no way for me to anticipate what’s going to happen when I’m in that examination room, rustling the paper on the squeaking, sticky plastic mattress. I don’t know how long I’ll be in there. I don’t know what he’ll say to me. I don’t know what kind of tests he’ll order.
I don’t know where all of this is going to lead.
What I wish I could somehow explain is that my faith is not any less because my fears increase. Chris and I talked about this the other day, and I told him that, sometimes, faith looks like a grim, gritted-teeth determination. There isn’t any attached emotion. Sometimes faith gets boiled down to the bottom line of commitment. It doesn’t feel nice or wonderful. Yet neither does it quit.
I won’t quit.
But I will beg Jesus to hold me, to calm my soul. And I’ll ask Him to enable me to hold on.