As I sat
helplessly hearing his tears, unable to comfort him, unable to take away his
pain and suffering; I told myself
“If He says
the suffering ends, it will end with just (a figurative) a snap of His fingers”
Why do we
insist on raising flowers, when weeds are the ones that grow through hardship,
and thrive in the most unlikely situations. I closed my eyes as his cries
intensified. Pain, discomfort, fear, enveloped him. I could only hold him close
and tell him how much I love him.
As I carry
him back to his cot, I whisper in his ear
“If He
decides you heal, you will. In just an instance. You’ll be healed. But that,
only if He decides so. We can only put in our efforts and prayers.”
To the moon
and back, they say. Like no other love. But it is not I that has the power to
give health. And death has been written long before I first held you in my
arms. If He says it is, then it shall be.
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