“In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for God’s people in accordance with the will of God” (Romans 8.26-27 NIV).
God woke me up in the middle of the night, so I could supernaturally share in the grief He was feeling as my twin sister, Christina, sat crushed in her car, waiting helplessly for the jaws of life to get her out. I didn’t know why I was awake at that moment, but I knew something was seriously wrong. My stomach and soul wrenched within me, but nothing in my natural surroundings verified what I was experiencing.
I was twenty-eight years old and ignorant to the full power of prayer, but God’s Spirit in me groaned on my behalf. I lived in Arlington, Texas, and she was driving home after her evening shift at the hospital in Corpus Christi. We were miles apart, yet linked by the heart of God who gathers the tears of His Children (Psalm 56.8). About a minute after I awakened, I heard the phone call that would begin one of the hardest seasons of a person’s life on earth: watching someone you love suffer and having absolutely no ability to help.
Here is an interview with Teresa Ann about how my twin and I landed on the Season 5 Premiere of Botched: Interview with Teresa Ann. You can win a signed copy of the book on the link below. Otherwise, you may purchase the book on Amazon: Following God across the Page!
The yellow visitor sticker clings to my shirt
I am the caged lead in a drama of delirium
The tight halls force me into a white room
Sprawled, complaining bodies weeping red
Broken realities strapped to slates of steel
Her restless motion moans over dry, crusted lips
Eyes glazed in anguish, arms probing for hope
Doctors deftly dodge sounds of dormant death
A drawn white curtain safeguards their minds
But my heart gasps under her collapsed lung
A white coat carefully checks his silver clipboard
Managing the mess with the fingers of his mind
My sister grasps for life’s scale in gulps of pain
I stand in an empty jury, waiting for the decree
A vast mallet balances in a teeter-totter of destiny
“Am I going to die?” she asks
“I don’t know,” fate replies
alisa hope wagner