Today we go back to hard places…

Every 2 years we do this. Sit in that waiting room. Stare at the x-rays. And every 2 years I hate it.

He was 16 months old when those screws were drilled into his skull. 16 months old when that baby rib was transplanted into his neck. 16 months old when that metal plate secured everything back together.

And 16 months old when everything I thought I knew about being a Mom got crumpled. Wrecked. Smashed into pieces like our little car.

He’s 12 now. And healthy. And happy. And most days clueless of the fine-line scar that runs up his neck.

And most days I’m fine. Really.

But maybe not today.

Some scars never go away entirely. They are arrows to the wounds we’ve endured and grace we’ve encountered. They’re proof that God gives us what we need when we need it. And reminders that we’ll never, ever be the same.

Today I’ll choose to see it like that. Choose to not let that stiff waiting room air suffocate me. Choose to smile as his doctor explains how this and that are in place.

And we’ll rejoice. All of us.

Because yesterday was hard. Today may be. Tomorrow is unknown.

But God is faithful. And present. And close to terrified 16 month olds in unknown hospitals. Close to confused 12 year olds in old hospitals. And close to still broken Moms in memory-filled hospitals.

Today we choose thankfulness!

“For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare[a] and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.” (Jeremiah 29:11)

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10 Years Ago Today…

Today…10 years ago…things changed.

I couldn’t have imagined that morning what lay ahead.

I couldn’t have held Stephen tight enough or kissed Jeremy long enough…if I’d known.

Who could have predicted that by 7:00 on the night of August 27, 2007 that we’d all be fighting for our lives in a hospital?

But we were. And we did. And 10 years later I wake up some mornings and still fight.

Fight the tears. Fight the questions. Fight the hopelessness. Fight the anger.

Because maybe some fights never end.

But maybe His faithfulness doesn’t end either.

He was close to us then…more close than I could possibly describe.

He held me when I couldn’t hold Stephen. He loved me when love couldn’t wake Jeremy up.

And today…10 years later…I just want to praise Him for His faithfulness.

Then. Now.

The Cross. Today.

He has always been and always will be faithful.

“But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” (Lamentations 3:21-21)

(And here’s to letting you read all the real-time pain and faithfulness in the book we published a couple years back.)

A couple weeks before the wreck…

 

A couple months after…

 

 

 

Wreck Anniversary Day…

6 years ago today…where has the time gone? Here are 2 links if you want to read more of our story. This link was done by a local news station 3 days after the wreck. Jeremy wrote this one for the Summit a year or so ago.

Today, though, I have something special I want to show you. It’s an attempt on my part to celebrate all God has done in the past 6 years and all we trust He will do in the future. It’s our “official adoption video!” Birthmoms will look at this along with our profile book when choosing a family.

I’m so thankful to Jeremy for putting the video together. Heaven knows I had no idea how to do it!

My prayer is that today we can thank God for his grace 6 years ago, and His continued grace now…

I finally got to run!!

On Saturday night I ran. I’ve been waiting to do that for 6 years. On the way home from dinner we lost a tire…literally…check out the picture.

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And when Jeremy smoothly maneuvered our noisy, shaking van over to the side of the highway, I ran. I got the boys out, and we headed to the side of the road.

I ran because I was scared. The sounds of cars flying by brought back new memories; ones I never even knew where there.

I ran because the thought of helplessly sitting there was too real to relive.

I ran because finally, after 6 years, I could. I could grab Stephen out of that car and high-tale it somewhere safe. Somewhere away from the fear, and the smells, and the pain. Somewhere far away from the uncontrollable.

The last time we sat on the side of the road that’s all I wanted to do. Grab Stephen and run far away. Sometimes in my mind I still want to do that. I want to run away from these memories and the pain they still bring.

But you know what I realized…Even when I couldn’t run away. Even when I can’t run away. God is still there. He is holding Stephen. He is loving Him. He is whispering to his soul, “It’s okay, child. You are safe with me.”

Psalms 27:5-“For he will conceal me there when troubles come; he will hide me in his sanctuary. He will place me out of reach on a high rock.”

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-Stephen in 2007