Last Friday, my daughter had two, out of four needed immunizations. It was an awful experience. After the first one she grabbed onto me with such force her fingers turned white. “Don’t let him do that to me again, momma!” she frantically cried. It was so excruciating having to watch her in such terror that I was very tempted to become anti immunizations right then and there, just so I would never have to watch her cry out in this way again. I wanted nothing more than to scoop my babies up and run out of that room as fast as my feet could carry us, never to return again.

But we did return, just three days later, for Pierce’s appointment. He needed blood work. “Don’t worry.” I told Boston, “You are not going to get any shots today.” She smiled, but I could see her nervous eyes. Two vials of blood were taken from Pierce’s arm and I was doing everything in my power to make sure he held still. I was not going to let them poke him again.

Just as the bandaid was placed on his arm I turned to see Boston standing across the room, her face as white as a ghost, a strange smile across her lips. Her eyes suddenly rolled back into her head and she collapsed, face forward, onto the hard tile floor. I am usually a very conservative person. I began to scream like a mad women. “Help! Help!!! We need help!” I shouted as loud as my lungs could scream. Three doctors rushed into the room and scooped up my then crying little girl.

She was okay. She had fainted from the sight of all the blood, combined with her newfound fear of needles. But I didn’t know it was only a faint at the moment. I had already watched my son experience three awful seizures in the past year. And watching my little girl collapse in that manner sent pure terror to my heart.

They checked her vitals, reassuring me that everything was okay. The nurse tried to have me drink a glass of water but my hands were trembling so hard that I simply spilled it.

My son was now bawling as well, most likely due to witnessing his mom lose it. The three of us sat together in the doctor’s chair with fruit snacks and ice packs and trembling hearts. We sat for a long time. I took turns slowly kissing them over and over again. I felt my heart slowly, very slowly, return to a state of calm. She was okay. Everything was going to be okay. But all day I looked at my sweet girl with a little more passion than ever before.

And I couldn’t stop thinking about those other mommas. The ones whose heart has felt that same terror as mine, and yet, it was given no calm. The ones whose babies lie in hospital beds with ugly sickness running through their precious bodies. There is no glass of water and reassuring words at their side. Only hope. And a desperate cry for the miraculous.

To all of us mommas who wake up with healthy children in our arms, remember this: we are so blessed. We complain about dishes, laundry, temper tantrums, exhaustion, “me time.” We pull out our hair in frustration somedays. But our children have hair. What else matters?

Hold your little ones extra tight today. Always hold them extra tight…

To all who have children fighting battles of sickness and disease, deep tears of silent prayers have been filling my days. Prayers for peace to you, dear momma. Miraculous peace. And strength for today. Just today. Because I know that tomorrow is too much to think about in the moment. You are in my heart. Your face burning deep into my soul. I am praying for the miraculous too.

You are not alone.

Then Jesus said, “Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. ~Matthew 11:28