This has been a rough couple of weeks for me and my family. For those of you who might not know, my Dad has been in and out of the hospital pretty much since the beginning of the summer, but has really taken a turn for the worst last week. I won’t bog you down with all the details, but the short story is that he’s on a breathing machine at the moment and we’re not sure whether he’s able to think anymore. That’s the most basic version anyway.

Not a moment goes by where I don’t pray that God will perform a miracle with my Dad. I want to be able to talk to him again and to share my day and stories with him. I want to laugh with him and eat with him. I even want to hear him complain and to see him fall asleep while we’re watching TV.

Last night I was at the hospital with Joy, my Mom, and my Sister and we all talked to my Dad, even though we weren’t sure if he could hear us. As I gave him a kiss on nose (which is all I could reach with the hospital bed in the way), I told him I would see him “tomorrow.” Now I don’t know for sure whether my Dad will make it through each hour, let alone day, but although I left the hospital saddened, I didn’t leave without knowing that the “tomorrow” I promised him would truly come.

I spent years growing up without my Dad being a Christian. It wasn’t until his heart began giving him problems about 5 or so years ago that he realized he needed to accept Jesus Christ as his Savior. Because of that fact, even if I were to get that dreaded phone call in the middle of the night, telling me something I do not want to hear, I know that tomorrow is coming.

Tomorrow may not be a Friday or Saturday in November, but it will come. Tomorrow will be the day that I get to talk with my Dad again and know he will hear me. And together we will both talk with Jesus, who even through tears of sadness today, will bring tears of joy tomorrow.