“It’s going to be okay.”
When I heard these words, I felt the relief pour over me, washing away so much of the fear. I was a new mom and fear gripped my heart in those days.
When our little girl was born just shy of three weeks early, all was well. She was healthy, and our hearts were full. We brought her home from the hospital, sang to her, rocked her, and loved her with a love we didn’t know was possible.
We’d only been home a couple of days when I began to notice it: a slight change in her complexion that was so subtle at first. Initially, I dismissed it thinking that perhaps it was simply the lighting in her room that evening. But the gradual change became more noticeable when she awoke, and the whites of her eyes were slightly yellow now as well.
We knew something was wrong and took her immediately to the pediatrician’s office where we heard the words “jaundice” and “bilirubin.”
I was terrified.
Though it had only been a short window of time, I kicked myself for not having taken her to the doctor the moment I first noticed the change. Guilt coursed through my heart. Thankfully, her levels were not in the critical stages yet; however, they weren’t far from it either.
A “Bili-light” was ordered, and we had to keep her under the glow for a certain amount of time every day. We made daily trips to the hospital to have her heel pricked to check her levels.
A couple of days came and went. I felt relief that her levels were decreasing, but the fear just wouldn’t release me.
During one of those long nights, she woke up crying. I fed her and had laid her on the bed to change her diaper when she began to have what I can only describe as explosive diarrhea. I’d never seen anything like it…the force, the quantity, everything.
Tears spilled down my face. I looked at my husband and said, “Something is wrong!” I grabbed the phone and called our pediatrician’s office. I was transferred to an on-call pediatric nurse at a large hospital.
I relayed what was happening, and that’s when she said this:
“It’s going to be okay. You’re doing a good job, Mama, and she’s going to be okay.”
She went on to tell me that what our baby girl was experiencing was actually a good thing because it was the body’s way of getting rid of the excess bilirubin in her system. I cried some more, but this time, they were tears of relief.
It was as if that nurse had reached through the phone, and squeezed my hand in solidarity and reassurance. It was as though she’d sat down beside me on that bed, looked me in the eyes and said, “I see your heart and your fear, and I’m here.”
So, friends, I thought perhaps some of you might need some reassurance as well because all of us do at some point in life.
When you’re anxious and worried…
When you’re scared, and fear grips your heart…
When you’re lonely and feel forgotten…
When you’re exhausted and feel you’ve got nothing left…
We simply need the reminder that we are not alone. We need the reminder that somebody hears us, and that somebody cares.
So just like that nurse’s words spoke to my heart that night, I hope these words from Psalm 139 will speak to yours:
“Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.”
Friends, there is One who sees, who knows, who cares, and who loves. Thanks be to God, we are never alone.