And There She Is

One month ago today, sweet boy, we took you to the Emergency Department. They thought you were stable. They thought you would go to a general medicine floor. But that was when the first domino was only teetering and had not yet fallen.

For the last month I have cried out to God day and night. I have begged for mercy, for reprieve, for peace, for strength, for comfort, for the ability to just make it through the next minute.

I have raised my hands in worship from the couch with tears streaming down my face. There were times it hurt to do so but in spite of where I am right now, He is worthy. His worthiness does not alter based on where I am. What alters is the intensity of my praise from the depths. It must be more.

I love the Lord because He hears my voice and my prayer for mercy. Because He bends down to listen, I will pray, as long as I have breath (Psalm 116:1-2 NLT).

The pain of losing you has been louder than anything else I can hear. At times, even louder than God. It isn’t He has not been speaking, I just couldn’t hear anything above the grief. So, He bent down to listen and to show me this:

Do you remember a few months ago when my favorite plant fell? She branched off into two huge stems with majestic leaves, a centerpiece among my collection. One of her gigantic stems broke, roots and all. Part of the stem and the reddish part remained, the place where a leaf was just beginning to come. Not knowing if it would work, I put her in some dirt and stuck her in a corner. I watered her every couple of months uncertain of the possibility of even a fighting chance.

Finally, this morning as I was turning on the lights I saw her. Hope in the color of green. She picked up where she left off before the breaking. She wasn’t dead. She was not quite dormant either. Under the surface where I could not see she was growing roots. For months I kept watering her with only hope that perhaps something was growing. From above the surface there was no evidence I was contributing anything to what appeared to be a dead plant. Underneath, just below what the eye could see, she was hard at work.

Once the roots were re-established, she was able to concentrate on the outer new growth. We can see and celebrate the emerging leaf but it does not negate all the work put into growing what we did not witness in the dark and soiled place. She still needed the faithful watering despite uncertainty if she could even grow again.

She will have to get used to being in the pot alone. For a while she gloriously and beautifully shared space. She shared the same sun rays and same root system. Only together could they make the beautiful plant that adorned the front window. That plant is no more from the breaking, but another space will form. New, unexpected, and even beautiful leaves will fill in. I know it won’t be the same beautiful in the once familiar form. What was unique has been severed but not demolished. Given time and new growth I will grow accustomed to it and even be grateful all was not lost after all.

Sweet boy, I have broken most assuredly and completely. Though I am surrounded by family and friends and so much love, I am apart from where I began and alone. God has put me in a corner in the soil. He has not forgotten. He does not hope because He IS hope. He waters me faithfully. I can’t tell today but roots are regrowing.

See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up: do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland. Isaiah 43:19

I barely perceive it. But I trust the promise. I trust the hope in the color of green. I trust the One who bent down to show me. It is coming. May it be soon. May I have the patience to endure until, finally, gracefully I see the full unencumbered way.