One of my favorite books is “The Hiding Place” by Corrie Ten Boom. The book tells of Corrie’s life during World War II. For me, it is one of those important books I want my children to read and understand.
Corrie’s father often took her with him when he traveled for his watch business. A beautiful interaction between Corrie and her father took place on a train when she was 10 years old.
And so seated next to my father in the train compartment, I suddenly asked, ‘Father, what is sexsin?’
He turned to look at me, as he always did when answering a question, but to my surprise he said nothing. At last he stood up, lifted his traveling case off the floor and set it on the floor.
‘Will you carry it off the train, Corrie?’ he said.
I stood up and tugged at it. It was crammed with the watches and spare parts he had purchased that morning.
‘It’s too heavy,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘and it would be a pretty poor father who would ask his little girl to carry such a load. It’s the same way, Corrie, with knowledge. Some knowledge is too heavy for children. When you are older and stronger, you can bear it. For now you must trust me to carry it for you.’
As I watch David laying in a hospital bed after his surgery, my mind keeps returning to those words from Corrie’s father.
“Some knowledge is too heavy for children. When you are older and stronger, you can bear it. For now you must trust me to carry it for you.”
The magnitude of what happened today weighs on my heart. The surgery went well. The surgeon said David did well. No complications. The tissue removed was notably bad tissue. The surgeon is hopeful that this surgery will improve David’s life. But David does not feel well. The next week will be very difficult for him.
We never told David much about the surgery. We simply told him that the doctors would fix some things in his head in order to help his tummy. David never asked for more. The simplicity of his trust in us humbles me. He wakes up, tells us his head hurts, seeks comfort, we reassure him, he goes to sleep. He doesn’t question “Why?” He simply endures.
The scriptures often speak of being like little children. I hope I trust Heavenly Father the way David trusts us. I hope I can simply endure with patience without questioning “Why?” I imagine, when I get to heaven, I’ll understand better the trials of this life. But for now, I am thankful to a Heavenly Father who sent His Son to carry my burdens, to carry my son’s burdens. I am thankful for Christ, who suffered our pains; who knows, truly knows what my son feels right now; who can comfort David with a comfort only Heaven can provide. Yet, in His infinite mercy, allows me and our family to be at David’s bedside, doing all we can to help him to feel loved and to feel safe.