Poked and Pampered

There is a certain amount of vulnerability a girl feels as she lies on a hospital bed under the fluorescent lights, her thin, cotton gown a little more breezy than she would prefer. Adrenaline surges through her veins every few minutes as pre-op nurses poke and prod and swipe and press and wrap and prepare and pamper. Each touch is gentle and every smile is sincere, but the nurses’ attempts to make a girl feel comfortable only serve to remind her of just how uncomfortable she is about to be.

And what they are going to do to her body.

And how long it is going to take for her flesh to heal.

And what the doctor is going to tell her afterwards.

The thought of it all steals the strength from her bones, the very breath from her lungs. But, then, the voice of her pastor, her faithful shepherd sitting bedside, cuts through the beeps and swishes of machines, through the white noise of her fear:

“For God alone, O my soul, wait in silence,
for my hope is from him.
He only is my rock and my salvation, my fortress; I shall not be shaken.
On God rests my salvation and my glory;
my mighty rock, my refuge is God.

Trust in him at all times, O people;
pour out your heart before him;
God is a refuge for us. Selah

Those of low estate are but a breath;
those of high estate are a delusion;
in the balances they go up;
they are together lighter than a breath.
Put no trust in extortion;
set no vain hopes on robbery;
if riches increase, set not your heart on them.

Once God has spoken;
twice have I heard this:
that power belongs to God…”*

And the girl is reminded that she does not have to be strong. She only needs to be His.

(*Psalm 62:5-11, ESV)