Regaining Ground.

Last October, I sat in wheelchair in excruciating pain that was expected to remain in my body for, possibly, my whole life.  My husband and I looked each other in the eye.  Held by a Savior that we cannot see.  We looked at what we had lost.  And we thanked God that He is always good.

We journeyed.  We mourned.  We found joy in suffering.  We hoped.  Countless people prayed.

I learned to trust the God who sees when nothing in front of us was familiar.  He carried us.

I watched my husband take on both of our jobs.  He carried us.

I felt the love of family, church family, and friends from near and far surround us in immeasurable ways.  They carried us.

I watched my previous paradigm for what it meant to be a mom to these beautiful little children shatter and have to dramatically change.  I watched my kids play from a distance because they couldn't climb into my lap.  I watched their faces shift on FaceTime when they found out that I couldn't come home from the hospital to kiss them goodnight.  I watched my baby grow in other people's arms.  I watched him struggle for six days to learn how to take a bottle because I couldn't feed him anymore.  I watched him turn away from me for two weeks when he didn't understand why I couldn't be close to him.  I watched people be the hands and feet of Jesus as they signed up for shifts to take care of our kids, clean our house, bring us groceries, drive me to appointments and to church, and make us meals.  They carried us.

I wasn't promised an end.  I wasn't promised a remission.  I wasn't promised hope for my body.

But God was my hope.  He is my hope.  He carries me.  In ways I can see and in so many ways that I can't.

And I'm thankful.

For the right combination of prayer, persistence, physicians, physical therapy, and pain treatments.

For the things I wondered if I'd ever even be able to attempt doing again.

For all of the uncertainty.  Because it causes me to lean into Him more.

For all of the pain.  Because it helps me to identify with His suffering.

For all of the loss.  Because it reminds me of what really matters.  And it reminds me that He sustains me.  That He is my strength.  That He is my security.  That I can never lose my Salvation from Him.  That He will never leave me.  That His love will never fade.

I'm thankful for Jesus.  Because He is more than everything I need.

And...because I'm out of that wheelchair.  Off of those crutches.  Walking!  Bending.  Lifting.  Moving.  Building up muscle.  Regaining ground.

Thank you, faithful friend, for walking this journey with me.

"You gave a wide place for my steps under me, and my feet did not slip," (Psalm 18:36).