I snapped this picture in the pediatrician’s office as we were waiting for the paramedics to come take Abby to the Children’s Hospital. I was afraid. I asked for prayers.
After the paramedics came, they asked for her car seat. As I walked to the car, I stood in the sun for a moment, closed my eyes, and reminded myself again and again to “just breathe.” Then it came. That sweet, familiar feeling blew gently like a warm breeze through me.
People were praying. I could feel it.
And it wasn’t just prayers sent to the Judeo-Christian God that most of my friends believe in. I have friends that are agnostic, atheist, and otherwise. Those friends said they were sending good feelings. Love.
I felt all of it.
I was laying in a hospital bed next to her in intensive care when I learned about the horrors that happened in Connecticut. My heart hurt. I sobbed. Then I prayed.
I’m in a weird place with my faith to be quite honest with you. I don’t know what I believe so much as I used to. But I do know this: I believe in prayer. I don’t know how it works, but I know it works. I know when good feelings are sent, whether through your God or through simply, your heart, I know it works. I know it helps to calm the troubled soul. To bring peace in times where there should be no peace. Does it make everything better? No. If it did, I wouldn’t be here in this ICU, and those families wouldn’t be feeling a hurt that I can’t quite wrap my brain around. But it helps.
Right now, people want answers. They want to place blame. They keep asking “why?” It’s natural, but it isn’t helpful at this point. What is helpful? To do what those people who have done for me who cannot be here physically. To pray. To send good thoughts. To do whatever it is you believe in. Just do it. Save the questioning, the blame, the anger, the politics for tomorrow. Right now, I beg of you.