A Testimony of Praise in Affliction

Things can happen fast; they can change your life. You can be vibrant and healthy one minute; struggling to exist the next. I knew this, but now it was so real.

I lay in bed, in the dark, thankful that our one-year-old was asleep. I listened to my husband’s peaceful breathing. That was good. But my leg—it was not good. At all.

It had all begun one morning a week ago. I had hopped out of bed like usual to scurry madly to get breakfast and my husband’s lunch packed before he left for work. My leg felt sore where it joined my body. Funny. It was my back that usually told me I had lost sleep. Thought dismissed, I raced the clock. The soreness did not leave. While eating lunch with my mother-in-law, I thought naptime would cure it. But it awoke as I did—refreshed.

Mom and I were sewing the baby a dress, and by quitting time I could hardly walk. I tried to make supper, but couldn’t and had to call my mom for help. While I sat telling her what needed what and where, constant pain racked my sprained leg. And a few hours later I fell because I couldn’t even stand. I, a healthy young mom, became bedfast. The maintenance of our home, in which I had learned to take increasing delight, now practically dissolved before my eyes. My husband had to take off work to care for me; I couldn’t even turn over by myself. Family had to take turns caring for the baby and preparing food.

I began to pray very earnestly. What was the Lord wanting from me? From us? What about our baby’s behavior? Her bewilderment, the angry little fits, all the training to obey? I could not even hold her, dress her, comb her hair! “How long, O Lord? How long will this go on?” In the dark, it seemed forever. A loooonnng time. And it seemed very dark indeed.

Now the leg was really hurting; I should turn over. I shook his arm; “Sweetie, can you turn me over? Please?” We must have done this a hundred times now. He sleepily turned me, but I was no better. Then bathroom break. Okay. Now let’s move you—“No, no!” My muscle was seizing.

I lay crumpled on the mattress, exhausted. And feeling utterly helpless. Helpless… helpless… you’re completely helpless. You can’t even take care of yourself. Or your baby. Helpless. Yes, I was helpless. And just where the Lord wanted me. Long hours dragged, each minute hoping sleep would come swiftly. We wrestled in prayer, pleading with God to keep us sweet to one another, to teach us what He wanted, that patience could really work in our hearts, and that we would not blame God for how hard it was to bear right then.

At three or four a.m., we called Joel’s family for prayer. His sister, the one who doesn’t sleep well, answered. I inwardly moaned. “Why, Lord? Why didn’t Dad answer? Now her sleep is interrupted.” After praying awhile, she suggested that we sing a song. David was always singing a song in his troubles. The devil whispered in a tiny voice, The baby’s going to wake up. So focused had I become on climbing above my circumstances that the excuse sounded feeble. I remembered, “David was a man after God’s own heart.” Plus, in her sleep the baby had heard us praying! So, we lifted up our voices, weary and tremulous, and not quite even in harmony:

“God wants to hear you sing
When the waves are crashing ’round you,
When the fiery darts surround you,
When despair is all you see.

“God wants to hear your voice,
When the wisest man has spoken
And says your circumstances are as hopeless as can be.
That’s when God wants to hear you sing.”

And God smiled. Far above us, and yet so near, God was pleased with our offering of praise. “It is a sweet savour, an offering made by fire unto the Lord.”* (Ex. 29:18) “And the Lord smelled a sweet savour….”* (Gen. 8:21) “Praise ye the Lord: for it is good to sing praises unto our God; for it is pleasant; and praise is comely.”* (Ps. 147:1)

The baby slept on, and the presence of God flooded the room. We sang more songs. And in a little while we became confident that the Lord was going to help me go to sleep, so we got off the phone. One of my most precious memories is holding our newborn baby tightly as I went to sleep a few hours after she was born. And I truthfully tell you that now, as I went to sleep, I held even more tightly the blessing God had showered upon us.

Afterward—This was probably the worst night we went through. However, the trial did not end here at all. We have had many adjustments to make and many more prayers have gone up, as well as songs. We have needed patience. Respect for others—who cannot do my work as I do it. We are thankful to have my abilities that were taken away now given back almost in full. It did not happen with a big splash healing. I am thankful that God has allowed me to do our own cooking, cleaning, and baby care again; and I am thankful for the inside things I discovered about myself while sick to be healed. In short, I am content. God does things well, and I am very glad to His child.

—Coquetta Erickson