It’s been a long while since I’ve written anything here and I’m sending it at an odd time. I hope you will forgive me. I’ve been busy writing, mind. Just not in this place where my thoughts seep out into cyberspace and collect in word pools for others to dive into.
I’ve honestly been dry, with little to pour out beyond what is necessary for family, work, and the writing of a novel.
But, like Jacob, I’ve refused to let go of God in the unfathomable wilderness of the last few years. And now, I may always walk with a limp. I know what the darkness brings. I know the questions, the doubt, and yet I choose faith, even as I question.
Even if. Even when.
Even when one moment I’m trying not to panic while my mom gets an IV—a flashback to my daughters panic.
Even when, later that day, I drive my daughter to the ER again barely a year after the last time.
Even when she is admitted again.
Even when I hold my girl down while nurses ease a tube up her nostril, down her throat for the fourth time or is it the fifth?
I will limp forward, praying for mercy.
Lord, have mercy.
And when we collapse back home, I am sick with joy, soaking in the sunshine, drawing crazy chalk animals with my son all the while wondering how it matters in the face of starving refugee children.
Lord, have mercy.
And he whispers that joy matters. It’s a gift he’s given. A tiny corner of the blessing I’ve wrestled for.
Lord, have mercy.
For the record, my daughter is doing better again and is back in school.