"Mom, where is Daddy?"
Her words were weak. She wasn't sure her mom had heard her at first, but then she grabbed her hand.
"He will be back soon, darling. Save your strength and rest, my love." Her mother's eyes shone with tears, and she squeezed her frail hand twice before laying it next to her.
Everything hurt. Everything. In her young life, she couldn't remember a time when she wasn't in pain. However, in the last year, things had gotten dramatically worse. Bringing her to this point.
Sure, her mother and father claimed that would not be the case. They promised that she would get better. But she wasn't eleven anymore. With her twelfth birthday came the realization that this could be her last.
Her parents had perked up in the last few months. Rumors of a man named Jesus who could heal any type of aliment came to their door on the lips of well-meaning friends and family. Her father, Jairus, clung to this notion. When word arrived that Jesus would be in the area, her father had made it his mission to find him.
And get her healed.
But each day brought her closer to death's icy grip.
She had woken up knowing that today something would happen today. She had begged her father not to go. Exhausted, she had fallen asleep a short time later, only to find out that he was gone. She was fading fast. The world was going dark, and her mother's cry echoed in her ears.
"Jairus, please hurry!"
Based on Mark 5:22, 35-43
I have read this story many, many times. I have heard it preached even more. I have blogged the perspectives of some of the people in this encounter.
I have NEVER thought about the little girl. I knew she was dying, and that at some point she died. Then Jesus raises her from the dead. I know she was 12 years old.
But I've never really thought about her roll in this story. Probably because she's not around for most of it. Recently, I read this section of Scripture again, and all I could think about was her. What was she thinking and feeling while she lied in her bed at home? Was she angry at her father for leaving her? Was she aware of how serious her illness was? How long had she had this illness?
Was she scared?
Or did she believe in the man her father was tracking down?
I don't have any answers. I am faced with the unknown, just like she was.
"When I am afraid, I put my trust in you. In God, whose word I praise, in God I trust; I shall not be afraid. What can flesh do to me?" Psalm 56:3-4
When faced with the scary darkness of uncertainty, do we continue to trust in God, or do we give into fear? Even a sick child as young as 12 can choose to trust in Jesus. So what about us? In those paralyzing moments, do we know our Father is coming with help?
V. Joy Palmer