The diagnosis you need

“Am I God of the universe?” He’d said.  “Yes, You are.” “Am I omnipotent?” “Yes, You are.” “Is My arm shortened, that it cannot save?” “No.  It’s not.” “Am I omniscient?” “Yes, Lord.  You know everything.” “Am I omnipresent?” “Yes.  You are everywhere present, always with me.” “Then can you let Me be God?” Silence. “Yes.  I will let You be God,” my heart murmured back.  And opening my hands, I let go. That was several weeks ago.  In the intervening days as we await the consultation, this mama has had plenty of time to think about hearts and murmurs and what ifs and my blue-eyed boy with the freckled nose.     Many people, I know, are born with benign congenital murmurs.  They live long, productive lives with no impairment whatsoever and scarcely realize that their hearts are different.  But that’s not everyone’s story.  I know that, too.  How do parents rest as they await a diagnosis?  The good news, of course, would be to hear the specialist say, “It’s nothing.  Go home and live.”  I am hopeful that we will hear those words.  But if not, what then?  “Pray without ceasing,” Paul admonished in Thessalonians.  Hmm.  Hearts and prayers and murmurs and burdens.  My thoughts churn relentlessly.  What if a heart murmur is exactly what I need?  What if that’s the way to pray without ceasing?  Maybe, as His child, I was “born” with one, too?  That particular command, which seemed impossible and burdensome to me as a child, has become so precious.  Living with a constant awareness of the presence of Christ is an unutterably sweet place to dwell.  In that place, prayer is no burden.  Rather, it’s the natural response of one’s heart to the Father.  Throughout the day as faces or worries or concerns come to my mind, I can lift them up to Him.  Sometimes, all I can do is breathe His name.  “Jesus,” I murmur.  No matter what my hands are doing, my heart can whisper – can murmur, if you will, to the One whose hands are big enough and whose arm is strong enough.  It’s in that place that I hear His murmurs to me as well.  His voice, He tells us, is still and small, and His sheep will know it.  So how’s your heart, my friend?  How are your ears?  If the Great Physician were to examine you now, what would He write in your chart?  I pray that this would be His report, “Has ears that hear, eyes that see, and – oh, yes.  A constant heart murmur.”

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