She's singing, "My debt--it is nailed to the cross; it is all gone, my life has been bought..." And, she knows it's true.
I don't want to miss a moment. The last eight months have passed so quickly. Eight months of constant pain. Learning how to live through pain. And learning how to find God's strength and His joy through the pain. Learning the meaning of James 1:2-3, that says, "Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance."
Eight months from hospital beds to living-room-turned-into-bedroom-beds and wheelchairs to crutches. And now, God has so graciously brought us into an adorable little brick house that's all on one floor so that I can move around easily, and have a bedroom with walls and a door. And, my handsome handy husband has been hard at work, making it feel just like us! Just last week, he put new appliances in the kitchen last week, installed a lovely new farmhousey faucet and knobs, and kept working on painting, and it's all coming along so beautifully.
Eight months of re-learning how to walk and spending weeks and weeks not being able to hold my little ones. Eight months from when my baby boycotted eating anything but a few jars of applesauce for six days when he was abruptly cut off from nursing because of my diagnosis and medications. He finally learned how to take a bottle like a champ, and I've been able to snuggle him without pain for several months. I'm so thankful that he still wants to do it. And today, he, too, started walking. I told him, at the beginning, that we were in a race to see who who would figure it out first. He was kind enough to give me a head-start so that I'd be able to chase him around once he set off on his chubby little toddler feet.
Eight months, surrounded by the most incredible love. When Jesus says that people will know we are His followers by our love for one another (John 13:35), a glimpse into this season of my life shows nothing but that: free, flowing, all-around-me love. Love from people who dropped everything of their own to stay with our kids when I was in the hospital. Love from people who made us so many meals that we didn't have to cook (or buy food!!) from October until mid-January!). Love from people who drove me to all of my appointments for months and months, and brought me and the kids to church because Sean gets there so early. Love from people who blessed us with beautifully encouraging letters and cards, generous gift cards and so much financial help, constant help around the house and with the kids, and wonderful company. Love from people who are still doing those things.
Eight months wondering if I'd ever be able to drive again. A little over one month ago, my lovely PA, who has been one of my most incredible supporters during all of this, was able to clear me to drive because I had been walking so well! My little Ava prayed one morning, "God, please heal Mommy enough to drive me to Mom's Night at school." That very day, He said, "Yes."
My husband has blown my mind with how much he has taken on to take care of me and the kids. He teaches me what it means to trust in God, and to rest in Him. Here he is, melting my heart and singing to Jesus with our kids:
Eight months ago, I determined myself that I wouldn't miss out on life because of a diagnosis and a disease. I wasn't going to let darkness win. It's not that it isn't hard. Particularly because it's so unpredictable. Every day looks completely different from the one before. One day, I'll be walking and nearly pain-free, and the next, I can't stand to touch my feet to the ground. But, none of this was a surprise to my faithful, loving God. He is stronger.
"He said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me," (2 Corinthians 12:9).
I spent the first three days of this week in my wheelchair. Barely able to take a step. And, yet, here I am, at the end of the week, living in the crazy unpredictability of CRPS. Pushing through the pain. On my feet, and making it through. Carrying love on my shoulders and God's faithfulness in my heart. He makes beauty from ashes.
"Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid . . . for the Lord your God goes with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you," (Deuteronomy 31:6).
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