Right now, my little girl is in the hospital—resting, healing, fighting quietly.
She’s sick, and as a parent, nothing prepares you for the sight of your baby hooked up to wires and monitors. Nothing prepares you for the silence between breaths, or how loud your heart can ache while you pretend to be calm.
But even in the middle of all this—she’s still so strong.
She doesn’t cry like I expect her to. She just looks at me with those big, steady eyes, like she knows she has to be brave for both of us. And somehow, she is. Even in pain, she finds comfort in the tiniest things—a stuffed toy, a quiet lullaby, my hand wrapped around hers.
I wish I could take it all away.
I wish I could be the one lying in that bed instead of her.
But right now, all I can do is stay close, love her harder, and believe that this hard moment will pass.
Every heart that holds us in prayer right now, every kind word or thought sent our way—it means more than I can explain.
Sometimes, strength looks like a tiny child in a hospital gown, sleeping peacefully in a room full of machines…
and a mother whispering, “You’ve got this, baby. I’ve got you.”