The Messenger

My friend and sister-in-Christ, Dixie Gee, shared this story with me, and I asked if I could put it on this blog. Thankfully she agreed because it shares a powerful message of how God takes care of us and uses us for His glory.

I was not accustomed to being at the hospital with my granddaughter. From the day she was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor, my role during her hospital stays had been to help look after her twin sister and little brother at home. Now, after surgery, radiation and many months of chemotherapy, the light at the end of the tunnel was almost in sight. On this particular day, I dropped by the hospital to visit before picking up little brother from daycare.

My granddaughter was in an unusually good mood when I arrived. She showed me the various gifts she’d received that morning from her Aunt who is always faithful to supply her with something to occupy her while in the hospital. As we chat, the nurse comes in to hang another IV bag. Unlike the other fluids they ran that morning, this bag has a menacing appearance, masked with an iodine-colored covering. I do not ask what the bag contains because I know it is a drug powerful enough to destroy cancer but also dangerous enough to take a life.

In all the months of her treatments, I had never been on this end. I had offered, but Mom and Dad were determined that one or the other would always be with her. Even today, Mom had just stepped out of the room for a moment. Time and my faith had allowed me to cope with my granddaughter’s illness. So certain was I of her full recovery, I no longer woke up at night with feelings of fear and dread. But suddenly as I watch the nurse cautiously hang the iodine-colored bag, the battle between faith and fear begins. The only thing missing is a skull and crossbones on the ominous bag as the medicine slowly drips into the veins of my precious five year old granddaughter.

Suddenly a surge of emotion hits me, and I fight back the tears. I cannot lose control I tell myself, not here, not now. “God, I need some help here,” I silently pray.

My granddaughter hops out of the bed. “Can we go downstairs to see the fish?” she asks. The nurse gives an approving nod so off we go like a royal entourage, first my granddaughter, the IV poll, and me. My lack of coordination makes it difficult to keep up with my granddaughter’s steps and I’m amazed at her strength and energy. On top of her shiny bald head is a pair of gold reindeer antlers complete with bells that jingle when she walks. She looks so cute in her matching dress and leggings. The ugly iodine bag does not intimidate her the way it has me as she smiles and greets everyone she sees.

I realized from the beginning I would not be able to handle my granddaughter’s illness on my own. My first prayer was, “God, I can’t do this”. Almost instantly I heard the still small voice of God in my heart say, “That’s okay, I can.” From that moment on, I would depend on God to deal with the waves of fear and doubt. I could feel God take hold of my right hand when my granddaughter was diagnosed, but now, surrounded by the visual reality of the seriousness of her illness, I found myself praying to once again feel the touch of His hand.

“Well, hello young lady! Don’t you look pretty today”, a hospital Custodian spoke as we made our way down the hall. “Could I pray for you?” Even at her young age, my granddaughter knows the power of prayer so she gently smiles and bows her head. Without shame the tall man drops to his knees in the hospital hallway. With arms lifted high, he begins to pray not in a whisper but in a strong voice filled with boldness and confidence. I cannot hear the words as much as I feel the presence of God around me. I had prayed for a touch of God’s hand, but instead He sent me a full embrace. I smile and thank the man as he finishes his prayer.

With renewed strength and calmness, I follow my granddaughter down the hall, tempted to look back to see if the man is still there. It would not surprise me if he had vanished into thin air. Perhaps he was not a custodian at all, but an angel in disguise. I do not look back. It does not matter whether an angel or a man; he was a messenger from God sent to minister to me at that very moment.

My granddaughter is fifteen years old now and cancer free! I thank God each day for His healing power and faithfulness during her illness. I often think about the Custodian and what his prayer meant to me that day, and I pray I will be as obedient when God needs me to be His messenger.

Thanks for stopping by,

Rachel