Comfort

It's late.
Or early. Depending on how you look at it.
The darkness is binding.
I am lying on the floor of my son's bedroom being as quiet as I can.
I am hoping he will find some rest.
I send out prayers for some relief for him.
He is struggling.
I hear him trying to find a spot that is comfortable. And he can't.
I hear him whimpering at the seizing pain in his stomach.
He is being very, very brave.
Outside his window, a car screeches through the stop sign.
I silently bid it be quiet so that what rest he can get, he will be undisturbed.
I am prepared to lie there all night.
I am prepared to do whatever it takes to help him through this rough patch.
The floor is hard and ungiving to my body.
I am scrunched up in a little corner to try and give him enough running room in case he has to dash for the bathroom, and to give me enough room to come to his rescue in that moment, to stand by him and offer him my support and comfort.

As I lie there, it occurs to me that perhaps it might seem to him that I am no longer there.
After all I am so quiet.

He might feel all alone.
He might think that I disappeared into my own space that is comfy; where I can sleep, not having to listen to the sounds of his struggle.

I put myself into his head for a moment and ponder
the kinds of thoughts which might be going through his head.

"I am alone in this."
"Where is she when I need her?"
"I thought she said she'd stay with me."
"Why is she silent when I am obviously in pain?"
"Why doesn't she do something to try and help me?"

Then the thought occurs to me that often in my pain here on earth, I have those exact thoughts sometimes occur to me about the God who loves me so dearly.

"I am alone in my pain."
"Where is God when I need Him?"
"I thought God promised not to leave me."
"Why is there silence when I cry out in pain?"
"Why doesn't God do something to help me?"

Where is God indeed? God Is In The Room.  God may be silent, but God is standing by. After all, I am His child. I need Him. He is there.