What the Blessings Really Are

Chapter 1

Breindel sat in her hospital bed with the white sheets draped over her. She stared at the white walls and the white light on the white ceiling. There were white daisies in a vase on the white table beside her. "Why is everything always so bland in hospitals?" She asked herself. She had silently decided that there would need to be more color in her room if she was to stay here, but her mother assured her that she would be fine and only have to stay a little while. That was eight years ago, and still she had white walls and white sheets and white daisies.

Being a hospital veteran, Breindel knew all the tricks. Don't move a single muscle during a scan; don't squirm or even flinch while they are poking needles into your flesh; and definitely don't eat the meals they feed you.

"How ya doing, Brin?" Breindel's mother, Charlotte, sat down on the edge of her bed. She always asked that question, and the answer was always the same: "Still alive, I suppose."

"How was work?" Breindel asked, purposely changing the subject. She never like talking about how she was- in the back of their heads, they both knew the true answer to that question.

"It went well, actually. Today was a good sales day."

Breindel's mother works at a shop that sells trinkets and treasures. They have lots of different creative pieces: hand-stitched pillows, glasswork, wire creations, anything you can think of. Her father is a police officer. He works a lot, but still makes time for Breindel and his family at home.

Breindel's eyes dropped to the floor. She liked talking about this kind of stuff with her mom, but it always reminded her that she was the reason that she mom was wearing old shirts that had stains on them and tearing seams. She was the reason that her dad always came home late at night and went to work early in the morning. She was the reason that before her mom opened her shop a few years ago, she lived in the hospital with Breindel and not in a house.

"Have you read at all today?" Her mom asked.

"No, today's just been kind of a lazy day." Breindel said, pulling herself back together.

Every day, Breindel reads from her Bible and then prays for a solid half hour. Every Sunday, her parents have off work, so they come and have church with her. And since Breindel is too weak to walk, a pastor comes in the afternoon and has a private study with them.

"I think you should. It always helps you." Her mom answers.

"I will... I just like being alone when I do it, and there's been nurses running in and out of here all day." Breindel replies lazily, glancing at the door.

"Fine. I know when I'm not wanted." She smiles as she gets up from the bed, looks around the room, and then at Breindel, where the smile has deserted her pale and tired face.

"What is it?" Breindel asks. "What's wrong?"

Charlotte looks at her daughter. "I just don't understand. I just don't understand why..." She covered her mouth with her hand and at those last few words, her voice cracks and a tear slips from the corner of her eye.

Breindel sits up a little and reaches her hand out to her mom. She takes it and leans down, giving Breindel a hug as sobs begin. After a few moments, she lets go and walks out after grabbing a tissue and dabbing her eyes.

Breindel reaches down for her Bible on the shelf under the white table. Her pale pink bookmark is in the place she left off yesterday- Psalms 61.

"Hear my cry, O God; listen to my prayer. From the ends of the earth I call to you, I call as my heart grows faint; lead me to the rock that is higher than I. For you have been my refuge, a strong tower against the foe." Breindel read aloud. The words caressed her, giving her comfort and strength.

"Lord", she prayed, "You know everything. Our feeble minds cannot even fathom the amount of wisdom you are able to comprehend. Our vapid brains can't understand the power you behold and the love you poured out for us when your only son gave up his life on the cross."

When Breindel was in seventh grade, she went to her first 30 Hour Famine. Now, granted, she couldn't spend the night there or fast for 30 hours like everyone else, and stayed in a wheelchair, but the entire time was a moving and inspirational time for her. Late into the night, they sang worship songs and prayed together in small groups. During the worship she felt so moved that she stood up from her wheelchair and kept her balance for an entire song. When people tried to give her a hand or let her hold onto their shoulder, she declined, saying that she was standing for her God. She felt as if The Holy Spirit had passed through her and given her strength. She never forgot that feeling.

Breindel hugged her knees and buried her face. People often tell her to be strong and to never give up on herself, but they say that with out the knowledge of enduring what she does on a daily basis. So usually after her Bible study, and especially after reading verses that portray to her situation, she just lets everything out. All of her fear, anger, confusion, and stress is all let out through lots of prayer and tissues.

A large sob escaped despite Breindel's effort to withhold it inside. Tears streaming down her face, she told God all about what was happening and how she felt. When her condition worsened and the doctors knew that she would be in the hospital for longer, her paster came to see her. He told her that the most important thing to do right now is to pray. He told the scared 11 year old girl that she should talk to God just like she was talking to her mother or father. Tell God everything that is happening and what she was feeling.

At first, this was a strange thing to do. Breindel had always prayed like she was talking AT God, not WITH him. But after a few weeks, the feeling became more natural and even now at 16, prayer just flows out of her like song from a bird's lungs.