Posted by: Michelle Knoll | March 19, 2013

A Tale of Two Kings: The Struggle Within

WOW…. where have I been?  Busy is where I’ve been!  So sorry for the delay on the story folks.  If you’re new to the story, then please start here.  If you were following the story, but lost track due to my delay, please go back and reread to refresh your memory.  

But let’s return to the hospital room, where the girl and her son, the king, were resting peacefully.  Well, the king was resting.  The girl?  Not so much.

The king was recovering nicely, but the girl’s heart was ill at ease.  Something didn’t seem right about all this.  Her husband reassured her that God was still in control, and He was watching over their son.  He proclaimed the king would be healed.  She believed that was true, but still something was nagging at her. So during the king’s naps in the infant hospital bed, and during his many trips to the nurses’ station (they came and “kidnapped” him frequently because they had fallen in love with the little guy), the girl sat on the regular-sized hospital bed by the window, and meditated on the last nine to ten months, and pondered what it all meant.

On the surface, it meant her son had a heart murmur that wasn’t healing by itself.

The cardiologist had said so.  He had said, after calming down from his exasperation during their last meeting, “Get him better and we’ll look at scheduling surgery in about a month.”  His matter-of-fact comment had stunned the girl, and she left his office feeling shaken to her core.

On the surface, she was one of many mothers who had been told this heart murmur diagnosis, by many cardiologists, all over the world.

This was a common problem.  This was not earth-shattering news.

On the surface, this was almost everyday in the modern world in which they lived.

Almost everyday.

On the surface, she knew, this isn’t something she shouldn’t be so stirred up about.

But something inside her said that this wasn’t everyday, and it wasn’t something to be calm about.  Something deep inside her spirit said, this is life and death.  Thus the reason for her adamant stance, her determination to claim every scripture she could find concerning healing, and proclaim them to the heavens, and to the depths.  She would not back down, and she would not doubt God’s Word.

However, it wasn’t happening like she thought it would.  Healing was not coming.  Every time they took the king to the cardiologist, the diagnosis was the same: no change.  Every time she left that office, she felt a little more defeated.  Wasn’t God listening?  Was He not aware of her cries, her prayers, her faith? And each time, since there was no change, the attacks came to her thoughts.  Was her faith too small?  Was it smaller than a mustard seed, which was all Jesus had said was required?  Was she not using faith at all?

The ghost of fear haunted her day and night, increasing its attacks against her own spirituality.  If you truly believed, this would all be over!  If you had any faith at all, you could MOVE this mountain of illness!  Over and over again, through the months, she had been on her knees, just like the woman who had touched the hem of the Lord’s cloak.  “Oh, Lord, please,” she had pleaded time and time again, “please heal our son.”  Occasionally, her pleas for the king’s life irritated her own soul, so she berated herself for being so weak.  At those times, she imagined Jesus looking at her, just as He had looked at the disciples during the storm: “Oh, ye of puny faith.”

At that moment in that hospital room, staring out the window, the girl realized: she was standing in her own “Red Sea” and she wasn’t sure she could hold the staff up any longer.  She wasn’t sure it was going to part.  She just wasn’t sure.


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