Life is so downright, unexplainably beautiful. Our God is so downright, unexplainably magnificent. I sit here with a blank screen, anxious fingers, and a heart so full it’s ready to burst.
I recently read BLOOM. Who knew that in a matter of days my own net would be thrust into a situation where the call to rally would be as loud as they get. Some of my most dearest friends are standing on the edge of death’s door as they watch their 19 month old angel, fight for her life.
The beauty that unfolds in the midst of unspeakable heartache has the potential to leave the magnificence of the most radiant of sunsets falling short. I am captivated as I am watching God be glorified, BY THE VERY PEOPLE who would have every justifiable reason under the sun to fall apart. They choose Jesus. This mommy is home for an eight hour break after days in the PICU and chooses that it is a priority to declare God’s glory.
I have witnessed God’s peace. I mean tangibly seen it in the eyes of parent’s who choose to recognize that the power of life and death is alone in the hands of God. Who publicly say, He’s a heavy blanket of peace placed lovingly across my shoulders by the prayers of thousands around the country and world. I have watched people rally, both friends and strangers. Rally to become the hands and feet of Jesus, to pick up the needs and fill in the gaps. Who truly give because there is a need. End. Of. Story. Who think not of themselves, or the glory they can attain, but find a hole and know the shape to fill it. A wonderful and intricate web of united people who are living these days with one common goal; to try and ever so slighty lighten a load of some dear friends. The support of this family is first and foremost, but let me just tell you that the behind the scenes support of people helping each other, so that others can help this family is unmistakingly fantastic.
The needs here are too great. They can not be filled by human hands. The medical case is too rare and too complex. Hearts are not meant to watch this type of suffering. Families are not meant to be separated for this long. B U T our God is greater and our God is stronger and our God is able and PRAISE HIM, OUR GOD IS BEING, OH SO GLORIFIED.
At the end of our rope there is so much more room for Jesus. I sat in church on Sunday and as the worship started, so did the tears, and the outstretched arms reaching for Jesus in a way that I wish I could capture on a daily basis. Livy’s mama said to me recently, “this has changed me”, and she is so right, it has. So. Much. It has changed many. I have seen hearts more focused on Jesus. People asking for wisdom and guidance in all things. People hugging their babies just a little bit longer. When you watch a little girl suffer. It changes you. When you choose to enter in to a situation that is painful, it changes you. When you stand in a cold hospital corridor and hold your friend who is sobbing and having the rawest and most real exchanges with her Savior over the heartbeat of her daughter, it absolutely changes you. And while every fiber in my being wishes that this trial was not before them, I marvel at the pattern that I have witnessed in my own short life that in the depth of tragedy comes our most fantastic shining moments of growth. Because at the end of the rope, you either let God do His thing, or you fall. You are out of any other options.
Around this community hearts are full, emotions are raw, things move quick, hours are uncertain, and personally the need to express this emotion in ways to properly convey what I have seen the hand of God do becomes overwhelming and seems unattainable. Words seem to fail me. As I replay events of recent days, the tape in my head is typed out, erased, and left blank only to be filled up with Jesus…Jesus.
This IS what life is about.
What this precious little girl is teaching hundreds of people is so beautiful it leaves me in tears.
May we never forget.
Please pray for Livy.