Our two year old daughter, Emily, had a health problem that we had hoped would resolve itself as she grew. It had not and the doctor wanted to do an invasive test on her to find the cause and hopefully fix the problem. The day of the procedure I took her in, dressed her in a little hospital gown that was much to big for her, and waited.

A nurse came in and gave her a drug that we were told would help her relax. The nurse said it might make her sleep but it doesn’t work on all children. We knew our daughter and hoped she would sleep but knew she probably would not. I rocked her as the drug worked and she fell asleep in my arms.

After a little bit, the nurse came back in to check on Emily. Satisfied she was asleep, I was instructed to carry her down the hall to a room where the doctor and several nurses waited. I laid my baby girl down on that cold table and was told I could wait in a chair over by the wall. They were going to insert a tube inside her, inject some dye, and then take some pictures. It was an uncomfortable procedure, to say the least, and I was told that just in case

Emily woke up there would be a nurse on each arm and leg to hold her still. She did wake up not long after I laid her down and walked away. She struggled to get up when she realized there were strangers around her holding her down. She was scared and confused. She could see me sitting in the chair and did not understand why her Daddy would not come to her rescue. They began the procedure and she cried over and over, “Daddy, hold you! Daddy, hold you! Daddy, hold you!” It broke my heart to hear her cry and have to sit back for her own good. I wanted to grab those nurses holding my baby girl down by the backs of their uniforms and throw them aside and take her into my arms again. I wanted to be her protective Daddy and for her to know she was safe.

When it was finally over I did go over and pick her up and carry her to the rocking chair, hold her close and tell her, “Daddy’s sorry it hurt. I’m here. I love you. Everything is OK.”

God is our heavenly Father who loves us and wants to bring us into His arms and bring us home one day. We go through so much here in this earthly life. Pain, trials, loss & grief, temptations, and so much heartache. I believe that God, like Emily’s father, hurts over our pain. Why else would He send His Son, Jesus, to die for us? Because of that sacrifice, we can cry out, “Father, Hold us!” And even though we don’t understand so many things that go on now and we don’t know why we have the pain, we know He will hold us.

“Can a woman forget her nursing child, and not have compassion on the son of her womb? Surely they may forget, Yet I will not forget you.” Isaiah 49: 15

Sharon Paxton (Emily’s story told by her father, Dusty Rush, at the International Soul-Winning Workshop in Tulsa, Oklahoma this past March) Btlfan910@aol.com