When a local friend calls at 7:30am Monday morning from the airport in Dallas, I know something is wrong. She flies in response to a family emergency, and I don’t wait for her to ask for help with the kids. We’re both military families and like all military folks know, family extends well beyond blood lines. When it matters, we find our own wings stretch far enough to cover extra chicks. And so this past week has found this mama doing just that. My morning ‘quiet time’ flies the coup, but I find rest in quiet stolen moments with the Lord. My service unto Him is no less honoring because it happens on the floor and over Go Fish {or at the sink and over dishes} rather than on the sofa and over my devotional. I am already in Christ and He is in me.

This weekend will bring more of the same. I’ll make sure 6 young’uns have bellies full and homework done. And that they have a generous helping of fun stuff, too!

On this weekend, may you feel His wings covering you and all He’s put in your care. May you know the safety of His arms stretched wider than wide, ushering in the gotta-get-dones while brushing away the it-can-waits. May you know His presence is loving, never condemning. And may you have a generous helping of fun stuff, too. I love you!

The hospital powers-that-me let me lay on the gurney with Faith, and off we rolled from the surgery prep room to the OR. We counted bright butterflies painted on the white ceiling and talked about how our butterfly-loving Oma would like those. Too soon the OR doors swing open to reveal a room full of sterile scary. Her tears give way first, and I snuggle in tighter than tight. I stroke her hair and whisper,

“Remember baby, you know these folks, they just look so different in their work uniforms. See? There’s Dr. Grabb! And see the nurse with the blonde hair? That’s Nurse Mary. And the nice lady we met earlier this morning? Callie? She’s over there behind the computer.”

I see none of this assuages her tears, so I get to the heart of the matter and the heart of any descent encouragement:

“I know it’s scary, baby. Remember Jesus is right here. Jesus is. right. here, baby. He loves you so much, and He promises to never leave you. And you know He keeps His promises! Do you feel His arms around you right now?”

And that’s when I really pay attention to the corner laptop station with dozens of wires trailing down. Those wires hold feelers that would soon hook up to Faith’s arms, legs, scalp and back to monitor her brain activity. I know this is a very good thing. Because if they move too close to the spinal cord, they will know immediately. But knowing this doesn’t assuage my tears. That’s just plain hard for a mama to take in.

Pretty soon Faith’s sleeping, so I carefully slide off the gurney and turn around to find Mary waiting to hug me. {I’m reminded how the best way to get already-emotional-me to really let the waterworks flow is to hug me!} I walk out those swinging doors and engulf myself in the arms of my man.

Fast forward one month and three days later, and I’m amazed at how God uses everything for a purpose and how the word ‘waste’ just isn’t in His vocab.

Faith still very much misses gymnastics. When her brothers go outside to play soccer and she realizes she can’t follow along, she laments her condition. {“Sometimes I’m just tired of being fragile, Mama.”} But God – the Who of our souls –  is only interested in getting to the heart of the matter. So while Faith still wears the brace and we don’t know for certain if those bones have successfully fused, I do know every bit of this has been worth it.

His grace proves it with these words written by Faith:

“I learned the story that when God closes a door, he’ll open another one. I learned this from breaking my neck.”

Faith doesn’t know what other door will open, but she does know it will open. Her faith grows because she is sure of what she hopes for and certain of what she does not see.

Because He always keeps His promises.