Yesterday in Bible Study we hit a sore spot. The kids and I listen to a chapter of the Bible on CD and take notes during Bible Study. We have been going over the CDs that I listened to heavily last year. Last year, when I so desperately wanted a miracle, I searched the scriptures, for in them I thought I could find life.

I knew that scripture, and I knew the second part. That Jesus was life, and if I could find Him, I’d find life. I started with the Bible. I read furiously, listened furiously, did searches online, running as hard as I could to find Him. I ran out of time. Yasha died.

I have a worse attitude this year. I never finished the Bible. I’m in Romans now, not reading every day. My heart is bruised.

Yesterday when we got to 2 Kings 4 on our Bible CD, I was both excited to hear the story again, and apprehensive. An interesting wrinkle is that that particular CD is cracked. We were able to hear up to chapter 3 without problem, but chapter 4 is corrupted. I pulled out my Bible and read sections, and we fast forwarded and heard other sections. It had the same impact. Elisha lay on top of the dead boy and brought him back to life.

I learned last year that you don’t mechanically do what was done in the Bible to get the same results. These are stories to illustrate what was done with faith. But I still thought that what the people did was a clue. Yesterday I caught something else. What the Bible doesn’t say. Elisha prayed before he lay on top of the boy. The Bible doesn’t say what he prayed. That’s like the whole thing. In 1 Kings, Elijah had a similar story. He prayed and a boy came back to life. We don’t know what he prayed either.

I believed those stories. I stood on them. I thought that because I believed these stories my daughter would be healed. I missed something. I missed what was in those prayers. I missed that dialog with God. I thought that by believing the stories, I was believing God. But I still didn’t know Him like that.

Last night, when I went to pick Yanni up from basketball practice, I heard the coach praying for the injured girls. That rubbed up against my heart’s bruise. “Will that prayer really do it, God?” I asked in my heart. My heart sinks every time I think about praying for healing.

Then I talked to my friend Daneen, (whose daughter is on the basketball team with Yanni), and she asked me about how weird it must feel to be pregnant again in the aftermath of Yasha. She asked about what it was to care for her, and she really understood what I was talking about. I had forgotten that Daneen used to be a nurse. It was helpful for me to talk about it. It was helpful for me to cry a little.

I’m done running away from unpleasant feelings. It’s like having this bruise is a good thing, because I’m not numb anymore. I’m slowly being healed.