God-stop while painting finger nails

I had a God-stop—a moment where I felt Christ pouring through me. Over the past several weeks one of the women I work with has been in severe pain. Since she is unable to say what hurts treating the cause of her pain is difficult and she feels helpless and afraid. She has periodically become very aggressive or spent hours screaming on and off at the top of her lungs.

Her behavior would be very frustrating if her eyes weren’t screaming her pain, “please make it go away.” Looking at her eyes—I feel her pain and helplessness, and any frustration in me melts into desperate prayer.

It’s hard to handle the fact that God does not just make the pain stop, but I have tried to learn to see His hand in the momentary reprieves while still praying for healing. One thing He has shown me is that He loves this woman so much, absolutely treasures her.

A few days ago Christ met us in her back hallway. I was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside her gently blowing on her nails to help dry the polish I had just applied when I sensed the Holy Spirit speaking to my spirit,

“Look at her. She is my beloved. It is not for you to know why she suffers so, but know this: I have not abandoned her Sarah. I have given her you. Your lips are my lips gently blowing her nail polish dry. Your heart is my heart groaning prayers of intercession before the Father. Know that I will heal her.”

Then in my mind’s eye I saw Christ sitting cross-legged next to my client. Gently cradling her hand in his nail scarred palm, head bent to blow her polish dry.

All resistance in me dissolved. The humility of Christ serving her that way became my evidence that He saw her pain, His heart broke over it all too, and someday He will heal her fully. I felt permission to be as angry as He was at the pain, permission to continue begging for an intervention knowing that, despite what it looks like, God has not abandoned us in this suffering. He has come nearer to mourn and suffer with us. In the dark night of the soul He treats us with greater tenderness lifting our eyes to tomorrow. Whispering in our spirit, “hold on not every day will be like today.”