and the Lame shall walk

 

My Sunday School ladies and I are making our way through Nehemiah, noting his faithfulness as he answered God’s call to rebuild the walls of Jerusalem.  God gave him a vision –compassion for His people who were hurting, living sinful lives behind unfortified walls.  Nehemiah, if you recall, was the cupbearer to King Artaxerxes, living in Shushan the palace in Persia.  In fact, he had lived his whole life in Persia, his family more than likely not returning to Jerusalem 70 years earlier when the Jews were granted freedom to return from exile.  Yet, Nehemiah was a Jew and Jerusalem was the home of his people; in fact, when his brother brought him word of the great affliction of the people who were left in Jerusalem and their broken down wall and burned gates, he wept, fasted, and prayed.  What he does next, however, is worth our attention.  He gets up, God answering his prayers by telling him of the work he is to do, asks Artaxerxes for permission to work on the wall, and goes to work, enlisting the help of everyone –from carpenters to apothecaries to priests to the daughters of the sonless men.  In 52 days, the wall is rebuilt, and Nehemiah begins his greater assignment –bringing the people back to the law which brings them to repentance. 

In a world in which there is Steubenville and Gosnell , we question How and Why and seem to forget that it’s all Sin and broken walls and burned gates and afflicted people.  And we wonder at the state of the world and gawk at headlines and make status updates of our “thoughts being with the hurting.”  Maybe we utter prayers.  Maybe we weep.  Do we fast?  Do we listen for His voice?  Do we rise to the calling of the wounded, His People who are perishing who have forgotten Him.  Do we take them back to the Word, to the Living Word, to the One WAY?  Do we help them fortify walls and rebuild burned gates?

In Acts 3, we read of another gate, this time an entrance to the temple within the walls of Jerusalem.

“2And a certain man lame from his mother's womb was carried, whom they laid daily at the gate of the temple which is called Beautiful, to ask alms of them that entered into the temple."

This story, of the lame man, grips me.  Maybe I see my little boy, challenged from his mother’s womb, born 2000 years before external fixators and shoe lifts and 8-plates and the Sinai hospital, sitting at that gate, carried there on the arms of friends.  Maybe I see him, limping and disgraced, cup lifted to those headed to the temple.  Maybe I pray that someone looks at him, really looks at him, before entering that gate called Beautiful and leaving him hurting and alone.  Maybe I pray that I wouldn’t have left him there lame and broken by sin.  That I would have SEEN him, would have realized that he was one of HIS children.  Maybe I pray for eyes to see ALL HIS CHILDREN to carry them to the gate, to the Christ, who alone can HEAL ALL WOUNDS.  That when I read of Boston and Texas, I get off of facebook and put my face to THE BOOK, my HEART to the heavens, and MY HANDS to SERVICE -- to the carrying of the lame to the KING, maybe not in Boston, but here, next door, next pew, next classroom, next to me on the bleachers at the JV game. 

Peter and John meet this lame man.  Not only do they look at him, they tell him to look at them.  And they perform a miracle in the Name of the MIRACLE MAKER:  “In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth rise up and walk.”  They extend their hands before he can even answer and raise him on his feet –“immediately his feet and ankle bones received strength.”  Do you need strength to stand today?  Are your feet and ankle bones taxed with anxiety, with fear, with guilt, with remorse, with doubt?  There is ONE whose HAND extends to YOU.   He will give you strength.  Are you HIS EYES today?  Are you carrying, extending?  Or are you on your way to worship, yet never see? 

One day this youngest boy of mine will stand in a kingdom with feet and ankle bones strengthened and whole, with a praise for HIS KING that I, with ten toes and aligned tibias and femurs, cannot fathom.  His weakness here will make his walk through that gate called BEAUTIFUL there all the more sweet.  While we are HERE, we must drag ourselves to Him, wall restorer, gate fortifier, and carry as many with us as outstretched arms can hold.

FIERY TRIALS

REJOICE. PRAY. GIVE THANKS. HOLD FAST.

This little stash of make-up isn’t an ad for Estee Lauder or even a look at what it takes to make me presentable in the morning. Its significance goes beyond covering up imperfections, and instead points to the ending of a month of difficulty. As I put away the mascara and the blush this morning, I thanked God for His unending mercy and grace, for the fact that I was putting this away in my own bathroom this morning and not in the hospital room of a sick little boy. One day, a little over nine years ago, I took a little boy to the ER because of a severe headache, and I didn’t come back home that night. Instead, I frantically called my mom in the hospital parking lot and spoke words that haunt her to this day, “Josh has a brain mass.” That night long ago ended with an ambulance ride, an IV, and an MRI. A few days ago, I was afraid of reliving that nightmare again; I was packed and ready.
When the doctor tells you that your son’s blood tests are abnormal and that no conclusive reason can be found for his recurrent fever (19 days of fever in one month) and that the next logical step is a trip to St. Jude to rule out leukemia or lymphoma, you stop breathing, your chest seems too weighted down with fear to move in the up and down rhythm required in simply breathing. The colors of life seem to diminish.

Let me back up a bit.

Ethan has a rap sheet of illnesses, fibular hemimelia obviously being a major one, but he has also been diagnosed with PFAPA, recurrent fever. About every 4-5 weeks, starting around age five, he had a fever for about three days with no other symptoms. This fever proved frustrating and was accompanied by many doctors’ visits and negative strep, ear infection, flu, etc. tests. Finally, an infectious disease doctor gave us the PFAPA diagnosis along with a prescription for tagamet and prednisone, and we have seen the fevers diminish greatly. This month, however, his “normal” fever went beyond the typical PFAPA symptoms and seemed relentless in its attack of his body, escalating to 105, sometimes with a strange rash. Again, we were met with testing for the typical kids’ junk: flu, strep, mono, etc., and all proved negative. Then, when the fever keep returning, he was tested for the next stage of diseases: lupus, rheumatoid arthritis, Kawasaki syndrome, etc. –all of which came back negative. After infectious disease and autoimmune disorders, the next step was oncology.

Let me back up a bit.

In the ten years since Freddie and I have been married, we have endured Josh’s brain mass and subsequent surgery, Freddie’s own brain mass and surgery, Ethan’s birth, fibular hemimelia diagnosis and external fixator surgery, Emily’s birth that literally tore my uterus, resulting in blood transfusions and a near mental breakdown.

Let me pause for breath and be real honest.

Sometimes I get hung up on the list. Sometimes it makes me angry. Sometimes I look at others and wonder why their lists seem much shorter in comparison. Sometimes I wonder what HE is thinking.

Let me tell you what I’ve learned.

I’ve learned that we all have lists, and relatively speaking, they’re all difficult to bear.

I’ve learned not to bear mine alone.

I could write and write about the things God has taught me through my list, but I’ll stick to the latest lessons with this post. This time, He taught me about the Body, the Word, and Grace.

THE BODY

My dad danced when we found out that what doctors suspected was a malignant brain tumor turned out to be a malformed blood vessel in Josh’s brain. My mom cried when I called to say, “No leukemia, no cancer.” Today, a friend at little league sign- ups could not have smiled any brighter when I responded to his hesitant questions, “Ethan’s fine.” My church family and friends joined me last night (and nine years ago) in my praise of the God Who Heals. My children’s victories have been their victories, too. Through prayer, we unite and become instruments in God’s sovereign plan. God knows we need one another. In fact, Christ’s final prayer before the cross was that we be as One.

John 17: 9 I pray for them: I pray not for the world, but for them which thou hast given me; for they are thine. 10 And all mine are thine, and thine are mine; and I am glorified in them. 11 And now I am no more in the world, but these are in the world, and I come to thee. Holy Father, keep through thine own name those whom thou hast given me, that they may be one, as we are.

We are His hands, and this month, those hands enveloped me in prayer and encouragement.

THE WORD

A godly friend encouraged me to surround myself and Ethan with the Word of God. I knew that the Word was powerful, but during this trial, I learned to wield the sword. I printed verses of healing and put them in my pocket, in Ethan’s room, and even under our mattresses. I opened a Bible to these verses –and sat it opened beside his bed.

Mark 1: 29 And forthwith, when they were come out of the synagogue, they entered into the house of Simon and Andrew, with James and John. 30 But Simon's wife's mother lay sick of a fever, and anon they tell him of her. 31 And he came and took her by the hand, and lifted her up; and immediately the fever left her, and she ministered unto them.

I told Ethan with great confidence that satan could not cross over the Word to reach him in his bed, and I prayed, cried aloud to the Lord, to lift Ethan up and to heal him of his fever as He had healed Simon’s mother-in-law. And then I wondered, why I wasn’t crying for my other children, my marriage, my home with verses raised and repeated back to the God who spoke them.

GRACE

This past week, the week of Valentines, gave me a glimpse of the One who calls me His Beloved. On the day that the packet from St. Jude came in the mail, before I could open the envelope, I first had to plow through cards and letters sent from my church family and friends, full of verses of encouragement and promises of prayer and healing. The Lord sent a mailbox full of love notes, promises made and kept. He saw me in my pain and in my tears, and He made sure that I saw Him. On the way home from school a few days before the appointment, Josh and I saw a beautiful rainbow, shining through a few drops of rain. Oh, how I marveled at the beauty of that bow, its otherworldliness, almost unreal in its appearance. And how my heart recalled the promises of the Lord, promises to work things to my good, to never leave me nor forsake me, promises of the availing of my prayers despite the rain.

God is Real. He sent real cards. He put our family on the hearts of a group of students who gave a sweet card and 86 dollars, mainly in ones. He put our family on the hearts of another family with small children who sent drawings and 40 dollars for gas and food. He put our family on the heart of a sweet man in our church who folded a 100 dollar bill into my hand after the church gathered as one to pray for Ethan. Did I mention that Ethan’s ER trip and CT scan cost $200 dollars beyond what our insurance would pay and that when Ethan picked the Golden Corral for his celebration lunch –can’t resist the chocolate fountain-- it cost $27 dollars? He paid our bills, really.

Let me keep praising.

We left St. Jude with negative test results. We still aren’t sure what caused Ethan’s fevers or if his future holds other months of sickness and uncertainty; we have a few possible causes, such as Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis, but no definitive answers. We hold to the real possibility as well that the Lord has seen fit to deliver him completely from this sickness.

What is True.

What we do know is that God sees us, He provides for us (to the penny of our every need), He loves us, and He intends our “lists” to prosperous us and not to harm us. Please re-read the verse that heads the blog. Praise be unto His name forever!

1 Thessalonians 5:
16 Rejoice evermore.
17 Pray without ceasing.
18 In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.
19 Quench not the Spirit.
20 Despise not prophesyings.
21 Prove all things; hold fast that which is good.
22 Abstain from all appearance of evil.
23 And the very God of peace sanctify you wholly; and I pray God your whole spirit and soul and body be preserved blameless unto the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ.

shameless pictures of their cuteness

Little Drummer Boy

Since I was a little girl, the "Little Drummer Boy" has always been my favorite Christmas carol.  Maybe it was the sound of the drum or the picture on the album cover of this little face, intently keeping time on his drum.  Maybe it was my own desire, or better yet His desire for me, to bring something of worth to this King of Kings.

My children have made their "Santa" lists at school; the coveted items include a gun (need I reference Ralphie and A Christmas Story?) and a baby doll.  Yet, the irony that we make lists of gifts for ourselves in celebration of His birth seems to escape us.  Why don't we list our gifts to bring as opposed to our gifts to receive?  How have we shifted focus from Him to self?  It's called worldliness, blindness to be exact.  Paul writes of this to the Corinthian church:  "But if our gospel be hid, it is hid to them that are lost.  In whom the god of this world hath blinded the minds of them which believe not, lest the light of the glorious gospel of Christ, who is the image of God, should shine unto them" (2 Corinthians 4:3-4).

The god of this world, he seeks to blind us.  He seeks to devour our faith, to keep us in darkness.  He seeks to turn our attention, or to keep our attention, focused on self.  A philosopher once wrote that atheism isn't the absence of belief in God, it is the making a god of self.  Our culture encourages us to worship self, esteem self, pamper self, and justify self, and in doing so, elevates self to godhood and God to needlessness.  How do you create a god of self unknowingly?  Sit in the dark for a while, and your eyes will adjust to the lack of light; in fact, you might find the LIGHT to be obtrusive, a bit too harsh and penetrating.  Even those who claim Jesus as Savior are not immune to usurping the role of creator.  Those who claim allegiance to the God who died a cruel death on a cruel cross to crush sin and at the same time revel in the very sin that He died to conquer, have created their own Jesus.  They readily claim the Jesus who heals and loves, but not the Jesus who says to Go and Sin NO More.  What God are you worshiping today?

Maybe there are lessons to be learned from this drumming boy.

He has been told of a NEWBORN KING by WISE MEN who SEEK HIM (WISE men still do ... "The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom: and the knowledge of the holy is understanding" ~Proverbs 9:10).  The KINGS bring their FINEST GIFTS for HIM, yet the drumming boy  has no gift to bring, only the playing of a drum.  Somehow he realizes that the only gift he can bring to the KING is the gift that the KING has already given him -his ability to play this drum (all of the gifts that we bring to HIM originate in HIM for only HE is GLORIFIED).  This realization brings a willingness to give, to give ALL to the KING. 

He PLAYS HIS BEST FOR HIM.

I look back to my little ones' lists and to my little ones' gifts.  This middle one, with crooked limb, who this King has entrusted with so much so soon, has been gifted well.  At six, he sat in line for hours in a wheel chair to get a glimpse of a document written on parchment by his hero, Lincoln. He blogs (yes, I'm proud), he tells corny jokes, and he can memorize virtually anythings.  How will he give these gifts back?  Will he write for Him?  Will he teach or preach for HIM?  This little one, with piercing blue eyes, who rocks baby dolls and dances and tumbles and makes us belly laugh.  How He has gifted her with joy.  How will she give these gifts back?  Will she mother for Him?  Will she encourage for Him?  This older one, taller than me now, who is soon to find his way.  Oh, how He rescued Him at five.  How He gifted Him with life.  Will this one offer back that gift?  Will his life be an offering of love and patience and kindness to others?  Will they PLAY THEIR BEST FOR HIM?  

What is your gift for HIM?  Will you pry yourself from yourself and give yourself back to the ONE who is KING of KINGS?

Drowning

Some days, I feel like I'm drowning. Lungs squeezed, panic set in, can't see the shore, drowning. Some days, treading water is simply too hard. Too exhausting. Some days, I reject the Life Savior and want to sink, to feel the water slipping over my head. To flounder in distress. To slap the waves and feel the ocean spray and salty sea touch my tongue. Some days drowning seems easier than swimming. Giving up. Relaxing. It's tempting. Some days.

Some days I don't want to hear The Voice of Truth. Don't want to hear that I'm blessed beyond measure. To Count my Blessings and Name them One by One. Don't want to be the Sunday School Teacher. THE Example.

Instead, some days, I count unfairness. Name them One by One. Post-Postpartum Depression. Days of Darkness and Fear. DIVORCE. Brain TUMORS. FIBULAR HEMIMELIA. Financial Bondage. Essays to Grade, Essays to Grade, Essays to GRADE.

I swim in this sea instead and cling to floating debris. Pieces of arguments. Words of DISCOURAGEMENT. Surgery number 3. No more babies can be birthed. Type A personality. Fear, always fear.

And I wonder, did HE do this. Did He sit in this sea. And I remember that HIS tears were as drops of blood and HE knows this water. Knows the taste of this OCEAN of DESPAIR. Yet, HE broke the BREAD and gave THANKS and got UP from the GARDEN and OPENED the palm for the N A I L S.

So, I follow. RELUCTANTLY. But HE is so COMPELLING.

And I go to the GARDEN and fall on the KNEE and RISE to accept the PLAN. AND feel the pain of guilt, the failure to look, the failure to float, to TRUST, to GIVE THANKS in A L L T H I N G S. The failure to see me HIDDEN in Him. To ACKNOWLEDGE that all things come THROUGH HIM first before they REACH me. And in the THROUGH HIM--
a l l t h i n g s become BLESSED AND GOOD. And bring HIM GLORY.

And the SEA begins to form anew. And the ashes BECOME beauty.

Fibular Hemimelia: parenting, parenting, parenting

Picture a van. Luggage carrier on top. One driver Dad, one passenger Mom, two teenage boys, one pre-K girl, one upcoming second grade boy, and one most welcome Granny. Picture disgruntled teenage boy one reluctantly handing over his IPOD to screaming pre-K girl while upcoming second grade boy cries that it's no wonder he can't sleep and driver Dad glares angrily from the rear view mirror while passenger Mom just doesn't understand why we can't drive ONE mile without someone crying. Picture most welcome Granny pacifying crying upcoming second grade boy and calming screaming pre-K girl as teenage boy one covers his face with a pillow and teenage boy two (nephew) bluntly exclaims to passenger Mom: "You're the reason I'll never have kids."


Ahh, family vacation. The time to relax.


Luckily for me, God had laid in on my heart, and mom had it on her Kindle, for me to reread One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskcamp. Just as IPODS were flying and children were crying, I came upon a passage that at least gave me hope amid my feelings of frustration and failure. Now some moms can just get in among all those screaming kids and swat some behinds and make some "your daddy will pull this car over" (can you image the chaos on major highways if all the dads did just that?) warnings and go back to their book satisfied that all is well in the world of parenting.

I, however, am not that kinda mom.


Instead I cry (who would notice amid the three thousandth watching of Judy Moody and eating of gummy bears and slurping of bug juices), feeling that my lecturing, my praying, my tirelessly teaching has gone to naught. Has passed right over their heads like the Skittles flying between the rows.


satan. He knows my weaknesses. He knows my desire for perfection --in all things --even eleven hour, seven passenger, car rides. (Just check out the perfectly poised, white attired beach picture and you'll get a glimpse of my imperfections -and not my sun burned, slightly swollen nose either!) He knows that it hurts, all jokes aside, tears at my core, to see my children fighting, to hear myself yelling, to see my mom (most welcome Granny) look at me with that "bless your heart you have your hands full" look.

Failure leaves a bad taste in my mouth. It ushers in fear --what if they never truly listen to the lecturing, heed the Holy Spirit's conviction, yearn for tireless teachings? What if they don't invite each other to backyard cookouts and Christmas dinner? What if I'm never most welcome Granny in the back seat pacifying grandbaby one and consoling grandbaby two?

Oh, he's good. He knows my heart.

But he doesn't CONTROL it.

If you listen, if you truly want to hear, God can be heard over the noise of the DVD player, the disgruntled murmurings of teenage boys, and even your own angry, barking response. He reminds us in Psalm 46:10 that we have to be still (quiet) to hear Him and to remember Who He IS. Crying silently in the backseat, He saw me. He heard my cry. He knew that I needed refreshed. Didn't Hagar, alone in the desert, overwhelmed by her circumstances, call His name El Roi -the God who sees me. Wasn't she camped by a well, yet didn't see it?

I needed some reminding -of what I wasn't seeing that was right next to me.

At all times His words bring truth, perspective. That day, He whispered, "Did I fail you? Is that why you don't listen to my Word, yield to my spirit, desire my teaching? Is that why you cry to get your way? Is that why my gifts never seem enough to satisfy? Is that why you cannot travel ONE mile without forgetting my provision for every mile that you have traveled? Or is it your own flesh that rebels against goodness and fights my spirit for control? If I give you grace each day, mercies anew each morning, do you not suppose that driver Dad, two teenage boys, upcoming second grade boy, pre-K girl, and most welcome Granny deserve new mercies too? Have you forgotten to give thanks for a van full of blessings? A van full of love and possibilities?"


Ann Voskamp writes: "Thanking God for ALL -prepares the way for God to show us His fullest salvation from bitter, angry, resentful lives --and all sin that estranges us from Him. ... Take everything given, fall at His feet, and thank Him."

May my life song ever be one that never fails to see Him and to give thanks. To seek Him amid the noise. To be a giver of grace.

(Driver Dad and Passenger Mom)

(Most welcome Granny)

(Teenager 2 (nephew))

(Teenager 1)

(Upcoming second grader)

(Who could yell at this pre-K bright pink Barbie lipsticked mouth and sweet on backwards mismatched --I picked out my clothes all by myself -- girl?)

Fibular Hemimelia -A Year Later ... tiny toes, cute pictures!

Because the "Tiny toes, cute pictures" blog title gets the most views, I thought I'd shamelessly use it again! On a different note, I did promise an "after" to the "Fibular Hemimelia Before" blog a while back and since June 7th marked one year "after" surgery, I feel that an update on Ethan's progress is certainly needed, especially given his new flat-top!


The pictures below are of Ethan's legs today. As you can see, the scars are healing. All scars heal ... some just take longer than others.

His legs are now pretty close to equal in length. Obviously, his left leg is made pretty differently. His knee lacks an ACL and PCL and his valgus (knocked knees) is still significant. He has another surgery on June 26 to move the 8 Plate from the femur to the tibia to correct the valgus. But I think his leg is just beautiful! His smiling little sister thinks so too!



Reflecting on a difficult year has its difficulties, too. I prayed specifically before writing this blog and simply asked Jesus, "What would you have me tell them?" What would you have me tell the ones who are facing a difficult year, the ones who feel beyond overwhelmed, the ones who cannot seem to make it past the "unfairness" of it all.


"Do you want me to recount your provision for us in Baltimore?" I smile in remembrance of the time we spent there --basement time. "Do you want me to tell them how we started nightly devotions in that basement --mini-revivals I'd go as far as to say. Do they need to hear that we are still revived?"


"Should I prepare them," I asked, "for the difficulty in watching someone you love hurt in a way that you can't take away. Or should I lead them to see the grace in ALL things?"


"Lord Jesus," I prayed, "Should I write about how I swore I'd never take walking for granted EVER again --that I promised to thank you EVERY day for the simplicity of bending a knee if he could just bend his again --and that I failed in that promise?"


My questions continued throughout the past week, and I heard a Christian radio guest make a remarkable comment just yesterday. She said that we teach others best when we are enduring difficulty --in our brokenness others can see Jesus in us. And I wonder, "Did God teach you through my difficulty? Was God able to use me, such a worthless jar of clay, to somehow showcase His Glory?"


"Of all the lessons, Lord, what do they need to hear?"


And then, He told me.


It really wasn't the answer I was looking for. I was kinda hoping for a long list ... kind of a year in review. Reminders of the little first grade girl and her prayer shawl, Emily's dinner prayers that have begun with "Lord, help my brother, Ethan" every day since last year (even today), the way in which I was able to share the blog, and therefore my faith, with my high school students and still meet a VA State SOL.


Instead, He simply said, "Tell them I love them."


And I can't type those words without crying so hard that I can't see the screen. "Tell them that I love them."


Did you need to hear that today --because I did. I need to know that even in my sinfulness, in my selfishness, He Loves Me.


He loves you in your difficulty. He loves you as you worry and you cry. He loves you as you question and rage against unfairness. He loves you as you yield to His will.


One of my favorite scriptures about our Savior is found in Luke 13:34 where He cries over Jerusalem: "-O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, which killest the prophets, and stonest them that are sent unto thee; how often would I have gathered thy children together, as a hen doth gather her brood under her wings, and ye would not!"


He wants to gather you to Him. He wants to heal your hurt. He weeps with you in your trial. He will bring purpose from your pain.

Fibular Hemimelia: "The Pain that you've been feeling-- is just the dawn before the morning."

We. All. Need. Hope.

\

"Before the Morning"
Do you wonder why you have to
Feel the things that hurt you
If there’s a God who loves you where is He now

Maybe there are things you can’t see
And all those things are happening
To bring a better ending

Someday somehow you’ll see you’ll see

Would you dare would you dare to believe
That you still have a reason to sing
'Cuz the pain that you’ve been feeling
It can’t compare to the joy that’s coming

So hold on you gotta wait for the light
Press on and just fight the good fight
Cause the pain that you’ve been feeling
It’s just the dark before the morning

My friend you know how this all ends
You know where you’re going
You just don’t know how you’ll get there
So say a prayer

And hold on cause there’s good for those who love God
But life is not a snapshot
It might take a little time but you’ll see 

the bigger picture

Once you feel the weight of glory
All your pain will fade to memory

It’s just the hurt before the healing
Oh the pain that you’ve been feeling
It’s just the dark before the morning

  ~Josh Wilson

Do you remember the dream I had of Ethan running, 

the dream that left me in tears, the dream that I 

thought would never come to fruition?  Why are we so easily 

discouraged, so faithless?  God doesn't promise to answer our

 prayers in the way that we see fit, but he does promise to 

answer.  

John 14:13:  And whatsoever you ask in my name, that will 

I do,that the Father may be glorified in 

the Son. 

Sometimes, however, our prayers are in accordance with 

His will, and we get to witness the miraculous.  

Psalm 107:28-30 -"Then they cry unto the LORD in their trouble, 

and he bringeth them out of their distresses. He maketh the 

storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still. Then are 

they glad because they be quiet; so he bringeth them unto 

their desired haven."

 Watch with me.  Watch Him, in a matter of seconds, calm my 

storm and still my waves.  Watch Him bring me to a desired

 haven,and then join me in my gladness.

(Click the link below -I can't figure out how to 

 embed a video?!) 

Baseball Player

Psalm 107:31 -Oh that [men] would Praise the Lord [for] his

 goodness, and [for] his wonderful works to the children of men! 

Can I tell you that the pain I endured watching him struggle

can't compare to the joy that comes in watching him R.U.N. 

Can I tell you that his struggle isn't over.  There's another 

surgery coming in June --to move his 8-plate from the 

femur to the tibia to correct his valgus (knocked knees!).

And can I tell you that I worry if he will have a natural gait 

and if his foot and ankle will be functional

without another surgery someday. 

Can I tell you, though, that beyond worry is H.O.P.E.  One

day we will see the bigger picture --our finite minds simply

cannot grasp the plans of the Infinite One.

Until then, we watch and pray, we wait and grow, and 

we stay mindful of His promises:

 Psalm 138:8 -The LORD will perfect that which concerneth

me:  thy mercy, O LORD, endureth for ever:  forsake not

the works of thine own hands.