Seen

It's still silent in my house this Mother's Day.

I remember the days when I would've given anything for silence in the 7 a.m. hour...and the 6 a.m. hour, and the 2 a.m. hour...

But time marches on, doesn't it? And no one is more aware of it than the mothers. It seems to jump and skip forward suddenly some days, and other days it feels like the season that will never end.

As I sit this morning, I am pondering on my current life season, with just the gurgling fish tank and my coffee for company. It isn't lost on me that I used to get extra hugs and kisses from my kids as Mother's Day gifts...but this morning I awoke to a vase of fresh flowers that my 18 year-old went and purchased with her own money. Also, the gift of mostly grown man-children who sleep all night long and half the morning...that's a magical present that never gets old.

I have been thinking about all the different places in life that all the women in my sphere find themselves this morning. And how no matter what emotions greet us today...it's hard to imagine what it will feel like when this particular season ends, changes, looks different than it does now. I know I couldn't actually picture what a full night of sleep would feel like, even though I was assured by all the mom's of older kids that it was a real thing that would one day be part of my life again...but now I regularly sleep the whole night, and the memory of waking up every other hour to feed a baby...well, it's just that, a memory.

We feel unseen sometimes too, don't we? In that place, in the plodding forward of days and time and work...does anyone notice that we haven't showered or brushed our hair or changed our clothes or manicured our eyebrows? As women, as the multitaskers of the human race, we just move forward and keep DOING ten things at once, and then ten new things, and then more...and our minds are whirring through all the things still to come...and I swear if I locked myself in a room that no one used but me (so, the laundry room, am I right?) the first creature to notice I was missing would be the first creature who went hunting for something I regularly kept supplied that had suddenly run dry. My husband would wonder where his clean underwear were. Or my daughter would be out of her special, lactose free coffee creamer. Or the dogs would have an empty water bowl. Or one of my sons would not understand why his iPad was mostly dead and sticking between the couch cushions rather than waiting, plugged in and fully charged, on the counter, like it usually was every day. Or there would be no pop tarts when the pantry was opened. No neatly straightened sheets and blankets when they went to crawl in bed. No extra rolls of toilet paper waiting nearby when they sat down without checking the current status of the holder. No bills paid. Or dentist appointments scheduled. No one else in the whole house who knew where to find the thermometer or the Tylenol or the bandaids or the broom or the laundry room where I was hiding.

SO much of what we do is unseen, unless its left undone. Our work goes unnoticed, while our lack of work is a pain clearly felt.

Not all the time, obviously, and lest you think I am complaining...I am not. I am simply pondering on all that my own current life season requires of me, and wondering how much of it I will notice has changed as years go on. And will anyone else see?

So, this Mother's Day, my 19th celebration as a mother, I want to remind all the ladies out there, whatever your status, of something the Holy Spirit whispered to me in the quiet of my home today.

Our God sees us.

In His Word, He tells us it's one of His names. "The God who sees..." You know who first calls Him by that name? A mother. (It's in Genesis 16, if you want to go read it for yourself.) 

I'm so glad, so grateful, that He sees me today. That He saw me when I was awake at 2 a.m. with a baby. That He sees me in 10 years, with no children at home anymore.

Being SEEN by HIM and KNOWN by Him...it's life, isn't it?

For all who were up all night with a baby...

For all who are empty nesting...

For all who long to be mothers...

For all who have lost their moms...

For all who have lost children...

For the ones drowning in laundry...

For the ones paralyzed by loneliness...

For the ones who feel overwhelmingly blessed and happy...

For the ones who feel only pain and longing...

No matter where you are, what season of life greets you today...

You are seen.

I am seen.

We are known.

Because the One and Only says it.

And I believe it.

And you can too.

To My Daughter on her 18th Birthday.

I remember the day you were born.

It's not the kind of thing a mom forgets. 

I remember that you came into our world, red-faced and wailing, and you changed us forever.

I remember thinking, as I held you for the first time, with tears rolling down my cheeks, that it was the beginning of a long, wonderful journey.

"I've got so many things I want to tell you. So many things we can do together. So much blessed, sweet time ahead, me and you."

And we have had more fun together than I could ever attempt to convey. Fun that, at the time, seemed a part of the normal progression of life. But right now, while you're sleeping still, and I am thinking back...right now I feel as though a spotlight is on all our moments over all these years.

We had so many tea parties.

We read so many books.

We played baby dolls. And barbies. And house. And legos.

We went for walks. And to the zoo. And to museums. 

We sang songs together. More songs than I can even begin to try and put a number on. 

We played games. And worked puzzles. And watched movies.

We've laughed till we snorted. Laughed till we cried.

We've cried. And cried. And cried.

If I had known, really known, on this day 18 years ago, that all those memories would feel like they took 5 minutes to accomplish...I would've tried to move more slowly through them.

Because now, today, I feel a little bit of panic, wondering if you're really ready. Did I teach you enough? Did I love you enough?

If only there were more time.

But I can't go back, and I can't press pause, and I can't slow the march of days that have made my skin wrinkle and my hair turn gray. That same time has morphed you from a tiny, dimpled, chubby-cheeked cherub, into a lovely, magical adult. 

I love the person you have become. 

I have loved every moment of you being my little girl. 

I will love every moment of you being my grown-up daughter/friend. 

In case I haven't said them enough, here are a few things I would like you to burn into that beautiful soul of yours, and never forget.

- You will never be too grown up to lay your head in my lap and have a good cry.

- You will never learn everything you need to know. But don't let that stop you from learning.

- You will always have to fight hard for the people you love. It will always be worth it. 

- Your heart will break, one way or another, because life hands us hurts. And when it does, I'm here. 

- Your plans and dreams and hopes will shift and change. You wanted to be a princess once, after all. In my eyes, you already were. Don't freak out when the changes come. That's the way of it.

- Hold tightly to the things that matter. Hold the rest loosely.

- Give away more than you accumulate.

- Laugh as much as you can. Cry as often as you need to.

- Regardless of one thing you have ever done or will ever do, I am proud of you, I am blessed that the Lord gave you to me, and I think you're the most beautiful creature I know.

- Even when you're old, with wrinkles and gray hair, you will still be my baby girl. Come over. Let's have a tea party.

Welcome to adulthood, my daughter, whatever that even means.

There's so much more to come. I'm excited to see it with you.

The Warriors

This is a story about 11 warriors.

They are unassuming at first glance. An underdog, ragtag band, hastily brought together by circumstances.

Looking at them, you would never know all the hardship life has handed out, because their faces don't give away their scars. They work and sweat and bleed and cry and FIGHT despite them.

There are the leaders, of course. Tallest, strongest, most skilled. The captains. The ones on whom rests the weight of responsibility.

These two bleed the most. They sweat the most. They take the most abuse from their opponents.

Nearly every time they face off against a foe, these two walk away limping or bruised, and often both. None of the other warriors can carry their burden for them. It's theirs because that is the way of things.

Looking at the faces of these two, only a few know their story, their journey, the internal fight they are always in. 

Only a few know that these shoulders, so broad and strong, have been bent to the breaking point by sadness. Brokenness, the kind that must be gut-wrenchingly sobbed out, has been part of their journey. Loss and heartache that nothing but time can heal has shadowed their eyes. They haven't always been brave and strong and able to carry this weight of leadership. Some days they still don't think they are. 

Then there is the second line of warriors. The ones who rally their leaders' spirits with their encouragement and support. The ones who aggressively, resoundingly, defend the hearts, minds, and bodies of their comrades. They may not be able to carry the mantle of leadership, but they will fight hard to make sure that mantle is as light as it can be. And when their captains falls, they scoop them up with the sheer force of their will and determination. And when their friends bleed, they make the enemy bleed in return. And when their comrades suffer, they suffer too, and they rise to fill in the gap that is left by their wounded fellows.

Anyone who watches the 9 who are led by the 2, knows better than to cause trouble. Because these 11...they are brothers. They have fought hard together. Over and over and over again, they've gutted out the battle. Not so they could win victory for themselves, but so that they didn't leave their teammates to fight alone.

They've pushed through physical injuries, illnesses, and hardships.

But looking at their faces, no one can see their internal wounds.

If you knew all that they've been through, you might see them differently.

Broken homes

Broken promises

Abandonment

Rejection

Loss

Rebellion

Anxiety

Anger

Fear

Insecurity

Knowing that they have carried so much...its hardly any wonder that they've fought with all their might to keep each other from carrying any more alone.

Each one that steps into the fray has the same look on their face. You can almost hear it thundering from their heartbeat.

"These are my brothers. I will do my part. I will carry this with them. I won't let them fight alone. Come what may, I will defend, and assault, on behalf of those I love."

And they do love each other. Some have been together for much longer than this particular war. Some have only recently been brought into the circle of brotherhood. But they love each other well. THAT is why they fight so hard. Camaraderie compels them.

They are selfless, pushing past the limits of what they want to endure. Not for themselves. For the sake of the team.

They take the punishment of the battle, and they hand out punishment in kind.

And when the dust settles, and the adrenaline fades, and they've limped home to bandage wounds and wipe away sweat and tears and blood...

They haven't been victorious in all of their battles, at least not the battles we have seen. That isn't the story they have come to tell.

This story is about the wars inside them...and there, there has been so much victory.

The rejected have found acceptance.

The abandoned have found restoration.

The broken-hearted have begun to mend.

The insecure have learned confidence.

The rebellious are learning discipline.

The anxious are beginning to calm.

The fearful have become courageous.

The underdogs have become invaluable.

The warriors may not have won all the battles they fought.

But they never stopped fighting.

For each other. Their brothers. 

And that right there is true victory. And when it's over, they smile at each other, and they raise their chins and meet each other's eyes. And they don't have to talk. We can all hear what they're saying.

"We will fight again. We might win. We might lose. But for each other, for the sake of our brothers...WE WILL FIGHT AGAIN."

Thank you, warriors. You have represented us well.

We are so proud of you all.

Venice, Munich, and HOME

SO much has happened since I last blogged about the trip. Too much to try and recap well. I'll hit the highlights only.

After an unsure destination leaving Rome, due to some flooding in parts of Venice...we ended up deciding to go anyway. We had to find a new hotel, but we decided to go.

It was so worth it. Venice is always worth the trip. We took the kids to all our favorite places. We shopped excessively and ate our body weight in gelato. We stepped over the puddles of standing water in St. Mark's Square. We are so glad we went. There is no city in the world like Venice.

After buying so many souvenirs that it became questionable whether or not we could get it all home, we boarded an overnight train to Munich, Germany.

I wish I could explain to you how NOT wonderful a sleeper train actually is. I know it looks romantic and wonderful in all the movies...but that is not reality. In reality, a room that sleeps 3 people is so narrow that one person has to climb on a bunk if another one wants to get out the door to go pee. And the bathroom...Lord above, its small. When I sat down to pee, my shoulders had an inch of clearance from the walls on either side.

We had to brush our teeth missions trip style because the sinks in our rooms wouldn't spit out water.

Train staff spoke much less English than we expected. Making our needs known was a task we quickly abandoned. I handed out dramamine and told everyone to sleep.

At 4:30 a.m. we had a loud, insistent bang on our door.

Border control.

Armed German Police, asking for passports, requiring a look at all the leery, confused faces, questioning us about our destination and reason for visiting.

You could be the kindest person in the world and I would hate you at 4:30 in the morning. Just FYI.

Arrival in the Munich train station added to the shock. It was breathtakingly cold. Chilled to the bone in 5 minutes kind of cold. Nothing prepares the thin-blooded southerner for 27 degrees F.

It was very empty when we arrived, but for the police and the homeless people. We were asked for money more than once. We witnessed one man being verbally dressed down by the police.

It was all a bit overwhelming.

We bundled up in all our layers, stored our bags in lockers at the train terminal, and hiked to our tour bus to drive to the famous castle, Neuschwanstein. Two hours on a warm bus, with plugs to charge our devices and a bathroom that wasn't any smaller than the train, were welcome reliefs.

The countryside of Germany is so lovely. Picturesque. I could live there, other than the fact that the thermometer never showed above ZERO celsius the whole day.

The snow flakes were enormous when they started to fall, and stuck, fully formed, on every surface.

The palace and castle of King Ludwig II were remarkable, once-in-a-lifetime sights.

The city center of Munich was an experience all its own. Its a big city, but there in the Marienplatz, it felt old, from another time. We shopped even more in the Christmas market, where all food was classically Bavarian and all the ornaments and trinkets were reminiscent of days gone by. Ignoring our already bulging luggage and waistlines, we ate and purchased and laughed and FROZE nearly to DEATH. It was a magical day.

We ran out of time and didn't get to do everything we wanted to in Munich, but all in all I"m glad we made the trip, terrible train and frigid station not withstanding.

And now we are headed stateside. And, honestly, we've never been so glad. We are ready. Singing "God Bless America" and everything. There's really nothing quite as wonderful as the place you call home.

Rome, part 2

It's impossible to properly convey how steeped in history this city is. It's in the air, like a heartbeat.

"You're walking where the history of the world once took shape." I hear it with every step.

St. Peter's Basilica, where once stood the church that marked the spot where Peter was martyred...it was breathtakingly beautiful. And I almost, ALMOST, stopped myself from reminding the kids that the Pope is not Jesus...but alas, I caved and whispered the reminder as we passed yet another statue of a pope blessing the people. Sigh...knowing that Peter walked there...and that Peter walked with Jesus...it makes me want to cry a little bit.

The history is palpable. I love it. There are so many things about even our language that can be traced backward to the origins of Rome.

Did you know, for example, that the Latin word for 'sand' is 'arena' ? That's why the Colosseum is called an arena...because sand covered the floor. (to soak up the blood...gross)

I'm driving everyone crazy with all the information I'm trying to absorb and pass on. But also, knowing stuff is making me popular.

We abandoned our tour guide at the Roman Forum. Why?

"We HAVE a tour guide. Charity knows everything," Mackenzie informed the group loudly.

Untrue...but dang if I didn't feel like a superhero.

We walked through the Roman Forum, the religious and political center of Ancient Rome, with the remains of temples on every side. We took note of the Arch of Titus, where it is proudly displayed that Jerusalem was ransacked and destroyed, and that the valuables brought back funded the completion of the Colosseum. We saw the ruins of the palaces of Nero and Caligula and all the other evil emperors of Rome. We glimpsed the remains of the ancient slave market, where all the captured Jews were carted in and sold.

All horrifying feelings aside, I reminded the kids, "If not for the fall of Jerusalem and the disbursement of the people...Christianity wouldn't have spread the way it did." We all attempted to settle our ruffled feathers. There's no "poor God" in any situation, people. Not one.

Which is why, I suppose, I held my tongue during our tour of the Colosseum, when our kind, elderly guide told us that Judaism, and then Catholicism, was that same as Christianity. All that was within me...struggled not to raise my hand. "Point of clarification..." But I didn't. I'm not sure if my parents would be proud or disappointed...but I do know that the crowd I was with appreciated my lip pursing silence. (Except Faith, who made a face at me that said "that's not right." We are the same person.)(Also, Ashely said she could SEE the look on my face, from the back of my head.)


Understanding the depravity of the human culture without a relationship with Christ is not hard to come to grips with if you visit Rome. The ancient culture is FILLED with terrible details I won't shock you with. It would make you sick to your stomach.


Despite it all, I love this city. I love the history. I love the pizza vendors on the street and the gelato shops that are barely able to hold 3 people at a time. I don't even mind the random people hocking their wares at every corner.

I love that, if I look closely enough, I can see the Lord here.

The journey continues tomorrow...with a surprise day trip to...I guess you'll have to wait and see.

Rome, and all that it implies

"Sir, look around. You are in Italy. Did you notice?"


Our second trip to Rome is currently underway, and I have to say, its as wonderful as I remember from the last time we were here 5.5 years ago.

This time has an extra level of magic, though, because we are joined by our kids. Introducing them to the sights and sounds and culture of one of my favorite places in all the world...its So. Much. Fun.

I'm always surprised when they have very strong opinions about things. (I don't know why, as I am their mother and I haven't met a single topic, ever, that I haven't felt strongly about.)

Nate, (12 years old) for example, looks away every time the Colosseum comes into view. Why? Because we have a tour scheduled for Thursday and he doesn't want to SEE it until he gets to REALLY see it. (insert shoulder shrug and eye roll here)

Nate also bemoaned the fact that there was no cheeseburger on the menu at the little Italian bistro where we had supper last night. Sigh...

Gabe asked "Is this the Sistine Chapel?" about every room in the Vatican museum...(in his defense, there are no churches, or any rooms at all, with beautifully painted ceilings in the USA, and I forgot to inform him that pretty much ALL of them are in Italy, so the confusion of a 9-year-old is to be expected.) But when we actually entered the famed chapel, he understood what I meant when I told him "No, buddy, you won't have to wonder when you get there. You'll KNOW you're in the Sistine Chapel." It's such an amazing experience.

A random, handsome young Italian man winked at my blond headed 17-year-old daughter earlier. Luckily her 15-year-old brother/protector didn't see it, or there would've been an altercation. I saw it though, and giggled at her flustered smile. What IS it about blond hair in a country full of dark headed people?

The Spanish Steps, the Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon...all of it was lit with golden sunlight. We climbed, and counted, all the stairs. We threw coins in the world's most famous fountain. We walked inside the oldest church still standing in Rome.

We also went inside several other churches, because I just LOVE the beauty of them. The kids were stunned, time after time, by the opulence and grandeur. Finally, we stopped in a huddle outside one to discuss. We talked about how people often want to honor God with extravagance. And how sometimes it is mistakenly thought that expensive excess invites His presence. "Be extravagant in your walk with Him. I support that. But remember...He is wherever you invite Him to be. Even right here on the street with us."

They have whispered to me, more times than I can count, "The Pope's not Jesus." I laugh and shush them every time. Sigh...that one is totally my fault.

The last time I was in Rome, I had taken as much as I could take from a particular tour guide on the subject of the leader of the Catholic Church. Don't get me wrong...I'm not anti-Pope, categorically. I AM anti-WORSHIP-of-a-MAN. So, I turned to my husband and said under my breath, "To be clear, so it has been said...the Pope is not Jesus."

Heath's retelling of this story involves me saying it loudly and attracting attention, which is an excessive exaggeration. But the kids think its the funniest thing ever, and have reminded me of it repeatedly.

I am pleased to report that my children are enjoying, and embracing, the culture of the Eternal City. Clay ate 4 croissants at breakfast this morning. (ah, to have the metabolism of a 15-year-old.)

We walked down an alley to a tiny gelato shop this afternoon, because its Italy, so gelato is required.

Clay ordered lemon gelato. The shop owner told him he could have 3 flavors. "Can I get triple lemon?" Clay asked.

"Yes, you can," was the reply. "But, sir, look around you. You are in Italy. Did you notice? You should try three. Please. Surprise me."

Clay laughed good-naturedly and chose two additional flavors.

"Thank you sir, you make my day," the shop owner called as we left.

Lemon was still Clay's favorite flavor. But this story will join the ranks of "The Pope's not Jesus" in our list of family story references. Because we have laughed and repeated it all day.

We are coming home, we promise. But not yet.

There's so much more history to soak up.
And home-made pasta to eat.
And Italian leather to purchase.
And stories to accumulate.

Sovereign- part 3

They looked so grown up, walking toward me down that airport corridor. 

It felt like they had been gone for an eternity, these teenagers of mine. But they were back, and I could breathe again. 

My son looked so tall and strong. He lifted me off the ground when he hugged me, then immediately went into big brother mode, taking charge of both his ands sister's luggage. I could see the change in him, and it almost, almost, made the two weeks of wishing I could be there to protect them both worth it.

My daughter looked pale, like she had when she left, but her eyes were calm. Whatever the Lord had done in her heart...I could see it on her face.

Jet lag and laundry and speaking engagements and more jet lag took their tole. We spent a week settling back into life. They told me stories, passed out gifts they had brought back, and submitted themselves to extra cuddles and kisses, a quick lice check, and a return to the routine of their days.

An appointment with Faith's doctor was on the calendar, and he had many questions.

He had not been happy with how dismissive the emergency room was, and quickly ordered a battery of tests and blood work, which he told us they SHOULD HAVE DONE before discharging her.

So...we trekked to the blood lab and she left several vials for examination. Then we put a heart echo on the schedule, since she had been having irregular palpitations for quite some time. "Let's see what the blood work shows, and rule out any damage to her heart. Then we will make our next-step plans," Doctor E. said.

We hadn't been home but a couple hours when we got a call. One of the numbers on her blood work was quite elevated, indicating a possible blood clot. We needed to go, right away, to the outpatient imaging center (where she had already had her brain scan before the trip) to have an image of her lungs taken. 

So...we went, of course. And we sat in the waiting room, and I felt numb. I don't understand medical jargon, and as I said before, I am the opposite of an alarmist. I kept telling myself they were probably just being cautious. Ruling things out, as the doctor had said. 

They took her back for the scan, then returned her to the waiting room with instructions to wait while they checked for anything emergent. After what seemed like forever, the nurse called us back again, and said "There isn't anything actively life threatening on her scan. You can go home. Your doctor will call you with all the results."

Back home we went. I dropped her off, chatted with the boys for a few minutes, and then headed to pick up milk and bread and coffee and toilet paper from the store.

My phone rang as I pushed the buggy down an aisle. 

"The image of her lungs shows she has recently had a pulmonary embolism. It is surrounded by blood vessels, so clearly her body is already working to dissolve it, which is why her symptoms have lessened some and she's able to stand up without getting as dizzy. This is what was causing all of her symptoms before she left. It was an active clot at that time, certainly."

Have you ever felt like you received news that your brain simply refused to allow to sink all the way in? Like...'If I allow the reality of what was just said to permeate my mind...It might actually split my brain in half.'

That is how I felt for about 30 seconds. Standing in the middle of the store, I could see the blackness at the edges of my vision, as my heart raced and my stomach churned. I felt certain I was about to throw up. 

I think I said something mature and calm like "Well at least we know what is wrong now. The unknown is so much worse. Now we can treat the problem."

But that isn't how I felt. At all.

MY GOD, she got on a plane with a blood clot in her lung. She traveled for 15+ hours, to the other side of the world where medical help was limited and far away. 

I put my hands on my knees and took deep breaths for several long moments. Then I called my husband and relayed the findings.

We were both mostly silent as the 'what could have happened' shook us to our cores. We felt...terrified in retrospect, and so overwhelmed with gratitude that she had come home to us.

The weeks that followed were filled with shots, and blood draws, and appointments, and lab work, as we figured out the answer to the big question: WHY a healthy 17-year-old had a blood clot in the first place.

Its a long story, and not relevant, really. Its a gene mutation that makes her blood more likely to clot. Simple as that.

It does NOT feel simple to me, as I play it back in my head. Yes, its an easy thing to monitor and adjust for. She can simply take a blood thinner whenever she is in a situation that puts her at higher risk for a clot (like long flights, or pregnancy, or surgeries). Fine. All of that is fine.

Except she could have DIED on that plane. The clot could've traveled to her brain or her heart...Why hadn't we seen it? Why were her symptoms so obscure? She didn't have any of the major symptoms of a pulmonary embolism. Only all the minor ones. WHY hadn't the ER doctors done that blood work? HOW could I have let her GO? Why didn't the Lord tell me not to let her go? I begged Him for a clear answer...and all along He simply asked us to trust Him with our child...So we did. But THIS was what we were trusting Him with? 

It felt like too much. Almost like we had been tricked. The Lord had not taken her. He had returned her to us. But...like a reel in my mind was the reminder, "Sometimes He doesn't. Sometimes He takes them. Sometimes that is His plan. What if that had been His plan? Why, Lord? What are you trying to teach me? I don't think I'll survive learning this lesson."

As I sat, thinking and praying, talking to the Lord through all my feelings, I remember having this picture flash in my mind. 

I could see that stupid blood clot in her lung, surrounded by blood vessels. It made her hand numb and her foot tingle and her heart race and her eyes jump strangely. I could see it, looming like a bullet. 

And then, I saw a hand, big and strong and nail-scarred, reaching out. I saw that hand open up and close around the clot in an iron fist.

"I am the sustainer of life."
"I am her protector."
"I am trustworthy."
"I am strong."
"I am mighty to save."
"I am close beside the brokenhearted."
"I am a miracle worker."
"I am with you when the miracle is different than you think it should be."
"I am always working for your good."
"I am never surprised by things that surprise you."
"I AM THE SUSTAINER OF LIFE."

As I shared the picture the Lord had given me with a friend who had been on the trip as well, she stopped me after the description of the fist holding the clot. 

"Did Faith tell you I said that on the trip?" 
I blinked. "No. What did you say?"
"I felt like the Lord told me to tell her that He was holding whatever was wrong with her in His hand, and she could trust Him to take care of it."

And I cried again.

All that the Lord is teaching us is still in process. It's only been a few months. She's still on blood thinners to make absolutely sure the clot is dissolved. She has to have her blood checked once every other week. She has to monitor how much vitamin K she eats so as not to counteract the thinners.

But...the Lord Jesus reached His hand into her chest and held that clot in His grip. It did not take her life. 

He sustained her very breath.

I wonder how many times He does that for us, and for those we love, without us even thinking to acknowledge Him for it? This was a big, obvious miracle. I sometimes sit and watch her breathing and thank Him for each rise and fall of her chest. 

But...do we thank Him before we see that BIG display? Do we recognize Him as the only One truly sovereign over life, death, and all that is between? Do we praise Him when the crisis turns out differently? When the one He sustains is the one left behind? Is that not still a miracle?

It was for me, when my sister died. It was a miracle that He sustained me. I found His presence to be life itself. 

I questioned His sovereignty, and my faith was shaken...but He was with me then. And He was with me when I didn't know exactly HOW BIG this thing was He was asking me to trust Him in. 

I'm glad we didn't find out what was wrong with her before she went. We never would've let her go. And then...whatever things the Lord had prepared for her to do there and learn there...all that her brother learned there because he had the added load of caring for her...all of it would've been missed.

I'm convinced the Lord intentionally didn't make it clear. Because He was offering us an invitation to know Him in a new way. A way I will never cease to see every time she takes a deep breath.

Only He is the sustainer of life. Only He is sovereign.