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Let Me Take Your Pain

Today I was thinking about the weight of our prayers. Do we really mean them. Are we truly & honestly able to handle them being answered.

As my little mustered through 5 days of hand foot mouth I poured over him in prayer. Asking a mothers prayer of let it be me, let me take his cup. As mothers we love deep. With a fierceness that brings our children to Gods throne daily.

So here I sit. He rapidly healed. My hands & feet literally covered in sores. A painful itch that has kept all sleep from me. Walking is labored with the sharpest of pierces & limping about the house.

Whether it was Gods mercy that healed my son or an answer to my mothers prayer I’ll never know. Yet I wonder. If we knew the excruciating agony in which we pray mothers prayers would we still speak them? This illness alone hands down the worst thing I’ve ever experienced…if I had known…would I have still prayed? To receive more spots than a leopard to remove the pain of his ten?

Always. Because I am his mother. So did God. Because he is our father.

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