May 24, 2021
I recognize there is scientific theory grounded in chaos and the resulting patterns that emerge. I don’t pretend to understand said theory—in theory. In practice, however, to God I say: message received.
Three weeks ago, my precious daughter was in an accident. She is okay. She will be okay. But I heard her cries in pain in the aftermath that even now I cannot hush from my mind. The helplessness you feel when your child hurts is the hidden nightmare of parenting. There is no preparation for it, but there is an antidote to despair. What happened on that night and the intervening days was that the grace of the God I’ve known all my life swept in. It wasn’t until I sunk bedside to my knees later that night in grateful prayer that I wept. Then I gathered my mother-self up and rolled on.
We’ve made it through this hot mess, and Saturday my home (which I love just a wee bit less than the kids and the dog) decided to spring a leak and pour water from the kids’ bathroom to the kitchen. Fans and ripped up carpets abound. Silence is a distant memory. Chaos is the constant.
What is confirmed to me, yet again, is that when the universe swirls about with the challenge and the noise and the “what next?”, I find that a peace kicks in that is exactly the stuff I sang songs about at the Baptist Bible school. It’s real.
Thank God.
And that’s all.
