I know this feeling. When the fist of some faceless, menacing being takes my heart and begins to squeeze in a vice-like grip. Pressure escalates inside me, and my stomach begins to churn. If I had a megaphone I’d scream into it. If I had a healing potion I would swallow it. But I have nothing.
Jesus, can you take this, too?
They are so close. If this was some ordinary situation, like a tear-wrenching article written about a needy family, or a thought-provoking special about a handicapped child, I could handle it. I would know just what to do. Say a prayer, send some money...maybe even mention it to others, so they could be concerned about it, as well. This is my method of control, my resources for managing worry.
But none of this applies when it hits so close to home. When your heart bleeds when they skin their knee, or your hands sweat nervously when they run out on the basketball court. The emotional connection complicates everything.
God, I’m worried. I’m anxious, and my heart hurts. This is completely out of my control.
Father of mercy, protect them. God of love, don’t let them go.
