Found out the other night that my grandfather is in kidney failure--Grandpa Tom, who is 2,400 miles away in Modesto, California. And when my brother told me there's just really hardly any time left, I stood there in my laundry room with a half-folded towel in my hands for a moment, trying to think of what I could do.
I couldn't jump in my car and be there in an hour. Or a day. More like four days at least. Were I in the same town, same state, even the same time zone, I'd drop everything and jump in the car, praying I'd get there in time. But I'm not.
And so with this terribly helpless feeling, I just kept folding laundry.
It bothers me not to be there to sing hymns and declare the Word over this man who cherishes these things. It bothers me not to be there to hold his hand and thank him. It bothers me that I can't be there when it matters most.
Lord, I know there are times when our hands are tied. There's simply nothing we can do, and that is extraordinarily frustrating sometimes--today it's just heartbreaking. But I know You're sovereign. I know You're loving. I know You are good. And I know that Grandpa is in your hand even before He's in Your presence.