From the moment I heard the doctor’s words I have been in a perpetual state of frozenness.
“It’s the worst thing.”
Time stands still, and it gets blurry when I try to take my eyes away from that tiny room thoughtfully stocked with tissue and grief pamphlets. The world races by as I try to blink enough to remove the fuzzy clouds swallowing my body, my brain.
Ringing ears, forgetfulness, shakiness, confusion, exhaustion. They all descended in that moment and have been my constant companions ever since.
But in that frozen moment when life stops and breathing becomes a chore – it’s a funny thing to find yourself tucked safe in the arms of the Lord. Without asking. Without praying. What a striking reality to realize that instead of buckling, He held me. Instead of suffocating, He forced air into my lungs.
Instead of crawling onto the gurney to die with Bryce that hot summer night, God picked me up and carried me through the next days, weeks and months.
And now – 136 weeks later – my eyes are opening to the incredible mercy of God. And how He just held me. He didn’t demand my attention. He didn’t nudge me for praise. He didn’t even convict me over prayerlessness or lack of faith.
HE JUST HELD ME.
This is how I’m able to take a breath and move a step forward. Only this.
At some point He will want to examine the wound. My next step is letting Him.