Immediately the father of the boy cried out, “I do believe; help my unbelief! ” Mark 9:24
The night I spent in Wabash, Indiana, was one of the most memorable nights of my life.
It began as a lazy college Sunday afternoon in the spring of 1967. I was in my college dorm room writing a paper when I heard someone knocking on a door down the hall. The knocking sounded formal, intentional, unfamiliar. I opened my door to see what was going on. When I looked down the hallway, to my surprise, there stood an Indiana state trooper in full uniform. He turned and, seeing me gaping at him, said in a sober tone of voice, “I’m looking for Mr. Scott Hawkins.”
“I think he’s out with his girlfriend, Jenny,” I said, obviously eager to please this intimidating man. “Uh, why are you looking for Scott?” I courageously stammered. “Scott and I are good friends. We grew up in the same town and have known each other since grade school.” The trooper seemed satisfied that I could be trusted with the news.
“Mr. Hawkins’s family has been in an automobile accident near Wabash, and he needs to get to the Wabash General Hospital as soon as he possibly can,” the trooper reported. His solemn face filled in the details.
“I’ll take care of it,” I volunteered, and took off to find Scott. My assignment would have to wait.
After driving around campus for a few minutes, I found Scott walking on campus with Jenny. He jumped in my car, and we sped off to Wabash. There was little conversation between us over the next fifty minutes, but the next twelve hours would forever be seared in my memory. When we arrived at the small hospital, we walked up the sidewalk and rang the night emergency button next to the front door. Then we hurried to the nurses’ station and someone directed us to Scott’s mother’s room. The moment she saw us, she began weeping. Between heaving sobs, she told us what had happened. “The doctors have told me that Tim will be all right, but I know that Shelly is seriously injured,” Mrs. Hawkins confessed about her daughter. “I believe God will take care of her, but I’m frightened.”
Scott and I quietly walked the halls of the hospital that night. Neither of us slept while his little sister held on. I don’t remember being tired at all. There were more important things to do than sleep.
Three days later Shelly died.
Many decades have passed since that night at Wabash General. I have gotten married and become a dad. And I have experienced the emotions of this terrified parent in the story told by the Gospel writer Mark. Desperately teetering between faith and unfaith, belief and unbelief, confidence and fear, sometimes I find myself praying, “I trust You, heavenly Father.”
And then I may add, “But I’m still afraid.”
Can you identify with the dad in today’s narrative? Can you hear his remarks to the Savior begin with, “I do believe” (v. 24). And can you add, “Help me overcome my unbelief”? Have you ever felt like this? That’s OK, dad. Jesus understands your fear. He is with you; I promise. Feel His presence; it’s for real.
That will have to be enough for now.