Breath

When I was about seven, my grandma saved my life. I was at my grandparents house for one of those vacations where your parents drop you off so they can have a little rest--and so you can have some fun being spoiled with an overload of Golden Grahams, cartoons, and pool time at the neighbors'. But this time I got pretty sick with the flu. Grandma did what grandmas do and worked hard to make me as comfortable as possible--getting my temperature down; making sure I rested and drank fluids; helping me in the bathroom as my body purged. I actually don't remember much from that week--it was pretty miserable. But one day, I threw up while lying on my back, asleep on the couch downstairs. Everyone else was upstairs, but somehow Grandma came down just in time and found me. She said my face was a little blue, so she quickly turned me over to drain my mouth so I could breathe.

I remember thinking about that as a seven-year-old. What if my grandma hadn't found me? I would have fallen asleep and never woken up (until Jesus woke me up). It was one of a few incidents in my childhood that me think about deep things for a kid--life and death and God and Heaven. I didn't understand it all. But I was really glad my Grandma woke me up so I could breathe longer than seven years.

Today I'm sitting with my grandma, and wishing so much I could help her breathe too. Her heart isn't cooperating, and there isn't enough oxygen. She just wants to breathe. I feel helpless. How I wish I could give her that breath. All I can do is sit, wait, pray, watch, and find small ways to help her rest and be more comfortable.

"Let everything that has breath praise the Lord," sang the ancient song-writer. I believe that breath and those praises are precious to You, Jesus. Our lives, our breath, are in Your hands. Thank You that You are with my Grandma now. And when she rests. And when You will wake her up, her lungs inhaling the purest air; her voice exhaling the purest praise.