Our daughter, Zyla, is a ball of sassy energy. As the youngest of our four, she runs everything in the home. I blogged a couple of months ago about her. You can read it here.

Zyla will be having her tonsils and adenoids removed on Friday and if you think about it, please say a prayer for her. The recovery time is 2 weeks, with an entire 7 days where we have to keep her drugged and stationary. Now, of course, we have a little anxiety, my wife more than myself, but we trust God.

Last night I was rocking her, to try and get her to sleep. She has this thing at night where we never know which of us she will let rock her to sleep. After a few nights of using her mother, she finally came over to me last night, and laid on my chest. As I patted her back and began to hear the familiar breathing change that comes when rest finally finds her tiny frame, I picked her up to lay her down. Her body was so limp as I adjusted myself to get off of the couch and carry her to bed. Her face was peaceful. I kissed her forehead, and couldn’t have been more in love with her in that moment than I was. As I laid her down. my brain traveled to Friday.

See, I knew what was coming. I could imagine the discomfort, even some of the pain that will come from the procedure. She had no idea. I knew the procedure and the process. She didn’t. I also knew the final product. She would no longer snore and have sleep apnea, which would help her rest better. Quieter. More peacefully.

As her father, I knew what was about to happen to my child, and while the thought of her being in any discomfort bothered me, I knew what had to happen in order for the result that needed to happen.

Do you hear me out there? Talk about a God moment.

God knows. Even when I don’t know. God knows the procedure. He knows the season of discomfort that is coming. He knows the process. The cutting. The shearing. He knows the burning away.

I don’t.

He sees the healing. He sees the renewed strength. He sees the recovery.

I don’t.

He sees the purpose. He sees the final product and outcome.

I can’t.

But like Zyla resting on my chest and shoulder, God desires to carry us through those times. He knows what’s coming. He hates that we have to go through the pain, but I can picture him patting us on the back along the way and softly whispering in our ears,

“I know it hurts, but it’s going to be worth it. Daddy is right here.”

Then He kisses us on the forehead and hugs us closer.

God knows. We just have to trust Him. Even though we won’t be able to see Zyla while she is in surgery and even an hour after the surgery is complete, God knows that we will be pacing, but I feel Him patting us on the back and consoling us. Giving us peace.

Trust. Faith. Love.

How our Father loves us.

I know this was for somebody besides me. I pray it blesses you today.


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