Scripture excerpts from Psalm 38, Psalm 60, Isaiah 43, Isaiah 49, Isaiah 50, Isaiah 51, Hebrews 4

Heidi’s kidneys haven’t been working for a while. For those of you keeping up with her cancer story, she’s on dialysis, and that is the biggest barrier towards her getting the bone marrow transplant that can save her life. Basically, her kidneys need to start working again for her to have a chance of beating the blood cancer that can ultimately kill her.

In the first weeks of kidney failure, the nephrology (kidney) team kept saying things like, “Your kidneys might just start working spontaneously again!” We hoped and prayed for that. It didn’t happen. In fact, Heidi’s urine output got worse and worse. Finally a kidney biopsy revealed, to everyone’s surprise, that Heidi has (another!) rare disease called Thrombotic Microangiopathy, which attacks the body’s major organs, kidneys included. She’s now on (wait for it) one of the most expensive medicines in the world to treat this.

However, further testing is revealing that, so far, the most expensive medicine in the world is not fixing the problem, or even stopping it from further damaging her kidneys. The hemolysis destroying her red blood cells has continued raging. At this point, she’s pretty much not peeing at all. Hope for her kidneys to spring back to life has eked away. And life with regular dialysis in a depressing facility grinds on. Not to mention the femoral line continues to prevent her from moving easily, or showering without risk (or at all).

It’s horrible.

Heidi had a dream a while back that she woke up in the morning, went to the bathroom, and started peeing like crazy, and the pee was splashing all over the place.

Inspired by this dream, all along, I’ve been praying that exact scenario will happen. That one morning she’ll wake up and the pee will literally splash out. And that Heidi will see it, and know it was God, and laugh.

God, I have to admit this feels like the Big One. Maybe because we’ve prayed so, so much about her kidneys already . . . only to hear worse and worse news.

O Lord, all my longing is known to you;
my sighing is not hidden from you.

I can already feel my doubt rising up, wanting to strangle any further prayers. He hasn’t done it yet, the voice says. He’s not going to do it. Stop beating your head against the wall.

My heart throbs, my strength fails me;
as for the light of my eyes—it also has gone from me.

If the most expensive medicine in the world can’t heal her kidneys, wouldn’t this be an amazing moment for your to crash in and do your miraculous thing? Would’t this be a great opportunity for you to show everyone your power, and your healing, and your love?

God, I feel like a cheesy salesman saying that. A great opportunity. But let’s be honest. The stage is set. It’s dire. You have to sweep in and save the day. No one else is going to do that–the treatments are failing. No doctor has a great plan at this point.

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,
and the flame shall not consume you.

The hemolysis is consuming Heidi’s blood. Extinguish the flame of that sickness.

The expensive medication? She hasn’t even gotten it that past two weeks because she keeps getting admitted to the hospital … and the insurance company is denying it, since it’s only approved as an outpatient treatment. God, this is a great evil. I hate our broken system, and the bureaucracy that has the power to kill–literally. But use this tremendous failure for your glory. She hasn’t had her infusions. If you heal her now, there’s no way it could be that medicine. TriCare has said no. But that will be okay … if you say yes.

Make Heidi start peeing.

Please.

God, sometimes I get tired of hearing myself talk. I hear a cynical voice in my head saying, just shut up. Stop thrashing around in public like this. Why do you always have to be so dramatic, Jenna? Be quiet and just bear your suffering privately like everyone else. Stop waving your arms and drawing attention to this impossible situation. People die. Why not Heidi? Stop embarrassing yourself.

Quiet this voice, God. Because it wants me to stop praying. It wants me to stop crying out to you. It wants me to stop shining the spotlight on what you’re doing–whatever that turns out to be. It wants me to retreat, and hide, out of fear, because it tells me you’re not going to come through and then, the fewer people even know about the situation, the better.

Who will contend with me?
Let us stand up together.
Who are my adversaries?
Let them confront me.
It is the Lord God who helps me;
who will declare me guilty?

Am I weak and pathetic like a child? So be it. Accept me. Hear me. And act. Give me the courage and the strength to keep talking to you, no matter how many times it appears you’re not answering. And then . . . please answer. In a big way.

But Zion said, “The Lord has forsaken me,
my Lord has forgotten me.”
Can a woman forget her nursing child,
or show no compassion for the child of her womb?
Even these may forget,
yet I will not forget you.
See, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands.

God, one of my favorite things about you is that even though you’re a king, and sovereign, and powerful, and all that, the way you interact with me is not like a king and a subject. It’s like a father.

Let us therefore approach the throne of grace with boldness, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.

I’m asking boldly that you will fix Heidi’s kidneys miraculously. And just so we’re clear between us, I’m asking for that fix to happen now. Not in six months or two years. I’m asking, God, that she will wake up tomorrow and start peeing. That by the end of this week, they’ll be talking about removing her dialysis line. And that by a week from today, the line will be gone and her kidneys healed. You can do it. So do it.

Is my hand shortened, that it cannot redeem?
Or have I no power to deliver?

I know it’s bold. I know it’s specific. Part of me even feels like it’s not as holy to pray this way. Like I’m supposed to leave things comfortably vague, or at least tack on “. . . if that’s what you want to do,” or “. . . but your will be done.” But I can’t bring myself to say those things right now. And maybe it isn’t as holy. But we are tired of waiting, and suffering, and watching Heidi be overwhelmed with her mountain of illnesses. I feel like we’re reaching a breaking point. Enough is enough, God. She’s suffered. Now give us relief. Don’t let us break.

You fear continually all day long
because of the fury of the oppressor,
who is bent on destruction.
But where is the fury of the oppressor?
The oppressed shall speedily be released;

Release Heidi from the oppression of her kidney failure.

they shall not die and go down to the Pit,
nor shall they lack bread.

Build her body back up. Don’t let her die.

For I am the Lord your God,
who stirs up the sea so that its waves roar—
the Lord of hosts is his name.

Yes, God. You are strong. You can save.

I have put my words in your mouth,
and hidden you in the shadow of my hand,
stretching out the heavens
and laying the foundations of the earth,
and saying to Zion, “You are my people.”

Heidi is yours. Save her.

You have set up a banner for those who fear you,
to rally to it out of bowshot.
Give victory with your right hand, and answer us,
so that those whom you love may be rescued.

Rescue her.

Sing for joy, O heavens, and exult, O earth;
break forth, O mountains, into singing!
For the Lord has comforted his people,
and will have compassion on his suffering ones.

Amen.