The life support we need

This essay was first published on The Daily BS on June 21, 2025. ETA:  Baby Mae passed from this earth and went to heaven one day after this essay was written.

In the quietness of a hospital room far away, the baby sleeps. A bank of machines murmur and blip, tracking her vital signs, delivering oxygen, relieving her tired kidneys. Beside her little bed, her parents wait, breathless. Their hearts are in their throats as she fights to survive. The hard and awful reality is that this tiny scrap of a human is on life support.

“Life support.”

When we received word that the youngest member of our extended clan was on life support, the words landed squarely in my heart. For days, now, I’ve been thinking on them, pondering their significance and deeper meaning.

For Baby M, as I will call her, it means that the machines are keeping her alive, doing all of the work for her fragile body so that she can rest and heal. Her precious soul remains tethered to this earth because of those machines and the expert care she is receiving. Nurses attend her around the clock. She is always under their watchful eyes.

The other day as I was driving to work, I passed the pasture green where lambs feed and roam about with their mothers. The sight always brings to mind the Shepherd’s Psalm. “The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want.” The words never fail to bring a sense of comfort and peace.

Glancing over, I noticed that one of the lambs was hobbling along on three legs. One was lifted in the air, bandaged, from what I could see in that passing glance. And again, those words. “The Lord is my shepherd.”

I thought, then, of Baby M, herself a wounded lamb, unable to move about, or breathe, or even to suckle just now as other babies her age. I thought of her parents, her grandparents, and her aunts and uncles who are riding a roller coaster of fear, then hope, then terror, and then hope. Pouring out fervent prayers as liquid pain rolls down their cheeks. Begging the Helper of the Helpless to intervene. Their lives have been upended by this one, tiny girl’s distress. That’s what love will do.

As I drove that day, I thought how all of them had a Shepherd. In a tumultuous, heart-wrenching time, each one of them, I saw, was on “life support,” and the provider of that support was their beloved Shepherd. In the midst of this crisis, they were leaning on him to see them through. They were finding him to be their life, their peace, their strength. He was (and is) their great support, the rock on which they have planted their feet, and all of this by faith.

In my own life, I have found this self-same thing. In every season, whether good or ill, Jesus has been my Shepherd, the great supporter of my life. When I am sad, I find comfort with him. When I am glad, he shares my joy, and I can feel his smile of delight. When I’m overwhelmed, his peace restores me. When I am weak, he shares his own strength. When I am weary, he carries me, too. When I’m afraid, I tell it to him, and he’s greater than all of my fears.

In times of confusion, he reminds me of truth. The fog lifts, and I can see clearly again.

In times of darkness, he is the light, and the darkness must always give way. In times of frustration or anger, I tell him exactly how I feel. He listens without condemnation, then gives me the wisdom and insight I need.

The primary way that I access all of this is through prayer. Prayer is my lifeline. It connects me to the source of all power and love. It is truly my “life support.” It has nothing to do with how wise or great my prayers are. Rather, it has everything to do with the object of my faith and the receiver and hearer of those prayers.

Another precious form of life support for me is my friends. I have good friends who pray for me, listen to me, and support me through the good and the bad. It is so important that we surround ourselves with people who are wise and of good character, people of integrity. Folks whose hearts are full of life, and light, and love. I am so thankful to know so many.

It is good to stop and evaluate our lives periodically. Do the habits we practice support life or death? Do the voices we listen to speak life or death? Are the things we watch and the things we read bringing life or death? And our speech—is it full of life or death?

All of it matters, for all of these things are affecting us, and they’re affecting those around us. The way we live our lives will bring life (support) to others, or we will foster death. We will encourage or discourage; build up or tear down; contribute to healing or create further wounds. The choice is ours.

Like Baby M, we who know the Shepherd live beneath his watchful eye. He tends to us around the clock, never leaving, never forsaking. He is with us in our distress.

That’s what love will do.