We are leaving at noon today to drive to Dallas. I believe I’m going there to get my miracle. I think it is waiting for me in a sterile, cold doctor’s office. I don’t think it will have balloons attached to it, or a card decorated with glitter and stickers. I don’t think it will jump up and bite me and say “LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME!”
I think it will quietly come. I believe I will walk out stunned, but still not fully grasping how wide and deep and long is His love for me and my son.
I find it cool that I sincerely believe this. In the last few weeks, so many people I know and love have been going through tremendous grief and stress related to their health.
I know it happens – I’ve walked that dark valley before, too.
But today feels hopeful. And tomorrow feels like another venture in my quest to understanding healing. Tomorrow I will draw close to Him, and He will draw close to me.
I believe the miracle awaits.
11 You turned my wailing into dancing; you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy,
12 that my heart may sing to you and not be silent. O LORD my God, I will give you thanks forever.