Dear friend,
Have mercy on me, LORD, for I am faint. LORD, heal me, for my bones are troubled. My soul is also in great anguish. But you, LORD—how long?
I had a scan two years ago that came back fine and I still remember the three days of waiting like they happened last week. My hands did this thing where they were cold no matter what. I kept refreshing a portal that wasn't going to update faster because I refreshed it. I know that's not the same as what you're carrying right now, but the waiting part, the body-betrayal part, I've stood in that hallway.
I keep coming back to Psalm six this week, where the psalmist says his bones are troubled. Not his heart, not his spirit. His bones. There's something in that specific word that tells me this kind of fear isn't abstract. It sits in the body because it's about the body. He doesn't rush past that to a tidy resolution either. He names the trouble first.
I don't think you need me to tell you it will be fine, because I don't know that, and you'd hear right through it anyway. What does your body need from you today, something small and kind, not a fix?
A prayer
God, her bones are troubled the way the psalmist's were. You know what her body is carrying right now. Meet her in the waiting with something steadier than an answer. Amen.