illness

I woke up yesterday morning on Rice Lake near Whitewater, Wisconsin. Just down the hill from the house I knew there was a beautiful lake with a handful of tiny islands dotting the distant shore. I knew the trees on that far side offered a mosaic of greens, yellows, reds and oranges. I knew fish were jumping and that ducks and geese were still coming and going, slowly making their way south. But I knew all those things from memory and faith in the unseen, for a white veil of fog had fallen in the early morning on the world outside the window and I couldn’t see a thing.

My view from the window yesterday is an apt metaphor for our lives of faith, for “we walk by faith and not by sight” as Paul tells us in 2 Corinthians (5:7). How often — perhaps especially when we’re facing difficulties, stress or sickness — do we feel as if we’re cautiously and haltingly trudging through life blinded by a fog of unknowing? There’s no way to go it alone, no way to safely wander and explore, knowing that we might take a tumble down a nearby hill or off a waiting cliff. Our lives of faith don’t call for foolish bravado; they call for childlike trust, holding the hand of the one who calls us by name and leads us into the fog, who knows every nook and cranny of our lives like the back of his hand.

Ask yourself in silence: When was the last time you felt you were walking in a fog? Could you find God’s hand in the midst of the mist?

Today I ask for special prayers for reader Dotty Z’s husband, Joe, who is suffering in multiple ways right now, including cancer and heart disease. God knows who and where he is, so tonight offer up a prayer for peace and healing. Dotty writes: “If someone out there would just say one little prayer, God will walk us through the tough days ahead. We are praying there will be something to help his weak heart. The tests — echo and stress —were not good but I pray there is enough left to have stints or meds to strengthen the muscle.  Stay well and let’s all pray for each other every day…”