Have you ever prayed desperately for someone’s healing? I mean the cry-from-the-bottom-of-your-heart pleading with the Lord for deliverance, freedom, and healing. After all, God is fully capable of full healing. Doesn’t he see this great need? Doesn’t he feel the heaviness of your cries as they fall one by one before his throne? I know you are able, Lord. Please, I am asking for healing. It’s as though, in the corner of your heart, you hold out hope that if you just plead hard enough, you might somehow will your loved one to healing. I know this desperation. I know this cry.
As I laid in bed next to my little boy, he wrapped his tiny arms around my neck and drew in me. He kissed my cheek with his baby-soft lips and then laid his head down on the pillow. I continued to hold him as tears filled my eyes and a rush of emotions filled my soul. It’s crazy how this Autism thing works. When my son has struggled through a particularly hard day, I am crushed. However, this day he had not struggled at all. In fact, he had made wonderful eye contact, had snuggled, and talked to me throughout the day. It was a beautiful day of clarity and freedom from the chains of Autism that so often bound him. It may be hard to believe, but sometimes the wonderful days break my heart almost as much as the hard days.
I had seen glimpses all day of the little man that he is. We had shared smiles and giggles. His bright personality had lit up the room. We had played together and he had spent part of his day in a tent with his sister making choo choo train noises. He was able, for the most part, to communicate his needs and wants. It had been a beautiful day. Now as I laid in his bed holding him, I felt so very grateful for the blessing of this day, but I was also overwhelmed with sadness. As the parent of a child with Autism, I fully know that just as a ray of sun will peek through the clouds and then go back into hiding, this bright day of clarity would not last. Tomorrow would be a new day and I would once again be left searching for the little boy I know is locked somewhere deep inside my sweet boy. This thought ached deep in my heart.
I pulled my son closer; as though I was trying to hold on to him as tightly as I wanted to hold on to this day. Please heal him, Lord. I know you can. Without even thinking, I closed my eyes and imagined reaching out just to touch the hem of Jesus’ robe. If I could just touch Him. If I could just hold my son in my arms and touch Jesus. Just touch the hem of His robe.
You know this story, don’t you? The bible tells a story in Luke 8 about a woman who was sick. She had been sick for many years with an illness that would have alienated her from society and caused her to feel miserable. And there was Jesus. He had just calmed a storm at sea, restored a demon possessed man, and He was on his way to heal a twelve year old girl who was dying. Yes, this woman knew who this “Jesus” was. I can almost feel her desperation. Jesus, this man who professed to be Messiah, this healer of so many, was passing through. In complete abandon, I imagine her rushing out her door, desperate to see this Jesus. I know you are able, Lord. Please, I ask for healing. As she approached Jesus the crowd pressed in on Him. Was this it? Would she get this close to healing and complete restoration just to lose Jesus in the crowd? With her heart pounding in her chest, she pushed through the masses and was able to squeeze her hand through a small break in the crowd. If I could just touch Him. If I could just touch Jesus. Just touch the hem of His robe. With twelve years of sickness behind her and the thought of an eternity of pain, exclusion, and embarrassment ahead of her, she reached out and grasped just the hem of Jesus’ robe. Healing. Complete healing. Trembling, she came before Jesus and He told her, “Your faith has healed you. Go in peace” (Luke 8:48).
Desperation. Faith. Healing.
So, as I held my little boy, desperation rose up inside of me. If I could just touch the hem of His robe. I know you are able, Lord. Please, I ask for healing.
It’s very rare that I ever ask God to “heal him from Autism” anymore. My prayers have shifted. I believe that some parts of Autism are a very special gift. My son sees the world in different ways than you or I could ever imagine. In many ways, Autism gives my son a unique and special gifting and personality that I would not ever want to lose. It’s the frustration, the inability to communicate, the aggression and impulsivity that I pray he would be released from.
I have seen the Lord work miracles. I have seen babies live who were said to have no chance. I have seen cancer disappear when the doctors have no medical explanation. Yes, He is in the business of miracles and He is able. So I reach out to Him, to touch the hem of His robe, to ask for healing. Maybe one day He will answer “Your faith has healed your son. Go in peace.”
I have great faith in a great God, but I also have faith that He is sovereign and that He may not have plans to heal my son. It takes an equal amount of faith to trust that God is capable of healing, as it does to trust that He is sovereign and may withhold healing for a greater purpose that we may never understand this side of heaven.
Until the Lord lays it on my heart to quit asking, I will plead for healing on behalf of my son. If I could just touch the hem of His robe. I know you are able, Lord. Please, I ask for healing. I will also not stop trusting that the Lord knows best and that His ways are perfect. I find myself in the in-between; between desperation and dependency, fear and faith, helplessness and hopefulness, tears and trust.
If you find yourself in the in-between, just like me, remember these things: Our prayers do not fall before an unable God or an empty throne. He hears you, so ask. Our prayers do not fall before a limited God. He is able, so trust. Our prayers fall before an all mighty, all powerful, all knowing God. He is sovereign, so have faith. Have faith even if it means trading your hopes for His perfect plan.
On those days that you are weary from the fight, remember that the Lord is close to the brokenhearted (Psalm 34:18). When days come that you wish so badly you could hold on to for forever just to see them disappear, remember that His ways are higher than ours and that He is not a God of mistakes (Isaiah 55:8-9). We must have faith enough to touch the hem of His robe and faith enough to trust if He responds with a “not now” or a “not ever”. If you are praying for the healing of a loved one, I’m sending you a hug. You are not alone.