There is a specific kind of silence that exists only in a hospital waiting room. It is a thick, heavy silence, punctuated by the muffled sounds of sliding doors, the distant chime of a call button, and the rhythmic clicking of heels on linoleum. For a parent, this room is both a sanctuary and a crucible. It is the “in-between” space—the gap between the arrival and the results, between the fear and the answer.
Today, Charlie and I crossed the threshold of the hospital once again. As he was led back for testing, the familiar separation took place. He went to face the machines and the needles, and I stayed behind to face the quiet. In these moments, the role of a parent shifts. You are no longer the one providing physical comfort or holding a hand; you become the spiritual vanguard. You stay behind to do the hardest work of all: Trusting God with the rest.
The Anatomy of the Waiting Room
Every parent who has walked a medical journey knows this place “all too well.” The chairs are never quite comfortable enough, and the magazines are always out of date, but those details fade into the background. The waiting room is a place where time behaves differently. Minutes stretch into hours. Every time the door opens, your heart skips a beat, hoping for a familiar face with good news.
It is a place of quiet prayers. These aren’t always the loud, formal prayers of a Sunday morning. Often, they are desperate, one-word whispers. Help. Strength. Peace. They are the prayers of a heavy heart that has been carrying a load for a long time. But in that heaviness, there is a deep reliance on faith. When you reach the end of your own strength, you realize there is a massive, divine net waiting to catch you.
The Division of Labor
There is a beautiful, albeit difficult, division of labor that happens during hospital testing. The doctors and technicians are doing their work—using their years of training, their advanced technology, and their steady hands to find answers. They are looking at charts, screens, and data.
But as a parent, your work is different. Your work is internal. Your work is to keep your heart from spiraling into “what ifs.” Your work is to remain an anchor of peace so that when your child returns, they see a reflection of strength, not a reflection of panic. Trusting God while the testing is happening is an active choice. It is a refusal to let anxiety sit in the chair next to you. It is a conscious decision to believe that regardless of the results, Charlie is held in hands far bigger and more capable than any on this earth.
The Power of the “Village”
One of the most overwhelming aspects of this journey is the realization that we are not walking these sterile hallways alone. Even in the isolation of the waiting room, I can feel the “check-ins” and the “prayers” from the world outside.
To everyone who has reached out, sent a text, or simply whispered Charlie’s name in their own prayers: Your love is felt in every corner of this hospital today. In a world that often feels divided, there is something profoundly healing about a community coming together for a child. This “village” provides the oxygen we need to breathe when the air feels thin. When I say that your love is felt, it isn’t just a sentiment—it is a tangible source of warmth in a cold environment. It reminds us that while Charlie is the one in the testing room, he has an army of warriors standing behind him.
Navigating the Next Step
We don’t know what the next step looks like yet. In the medical world, “testing” is often a doorway to more questions or a path to a new strategy. But we navigate it together. Charlie’s resilience is my inspiration. He faces these challenges with a spirit that humbles me every single day.
This journey isn’t a sprint; it’s a marathon through a landscape we never asked to visit. But as we walk through this next phase, we do so with eyes open and hearts fixed on the promise that we are never forsaken. We move forward—not because we are fearless, but because our faith is greater than our fear.
A Call to Stand Together
If you are reading this, you are part of Charlie’s story. You are part of the light that is pushing back the darkness.
There is power in collective hope. When we ask you to “drop a 🙏,” it’s not just for a social media algorithm. It’s a way for us to look at the screen and see a digital wall of support. It’s a reminder that Charlie is being lifted up by thousands of hearts across the world. Each prayer is a brick in the fortress we are building around him.
Tonight, as we wait for the results and prepare for the drive home, we rest in the “in-between.” We are tired, yes. Our hearts are heavy, yes. But we are also filled with a peace that the world cannot give and the hospital cannot take away.
Thank you for standing with Charlie. Thank you for being our strength when ours wavers. The testing may be happening now, but the victory is already being written in the faith we share.
We keep moving forward. We keep trusting. We keep believing.
Reflection for the Community:
How do you find peace in your own “waiting rooms” of life? Today, let Charlie’s journey be a reminder that you don’t have to carry the weight alone. Let the “Village” carry it with you.
#CharlieStrong #FaithAndHealing #HospitalLife #PowerOfPrayer #KeepMovingForward #BlessedByYou #TheWaitingRoom #TrustingTheProcess
