I can't remember how many times she called me the day of Shelby's appointment, or the day Ruben left Delia for boot camp.
How she assured Delia he would return, and she would survive.
How she made Shelby laugh in all her fear by telling her to picture the doctor in his underwear.
How she has taken Izzy and Max with her so they wouldn't be alone.
How she visited Mama just because Mama was alone.
She doesn't always have a spotless house and her laundry piles high like the rest of the saints who decided long ago that others matter more than she does.
It never feels like an imposition, it just feels like friendship.
Family's not always just those that share your blood.
Love you, Sandra.
And thank you.
My gratitude list continues . . .
hearing her good morning on the phone
how she gently listens
the volunteering that ceases my worried mind from thoughts of asking too much
the volunteering that ceases my worried mind from thoughts of asking too much
the tears she sheds for my babies
her prayers
her partnership in VBS
the way she lets me ramble myself to my own answer
friendship with the only strings attached going from heart to heart, home to home
My baby sister sits across from the doctor in the office that swaddles the women who beg God for babies. Women that lay their hope at the feet of the Creator of science.
Certificates line the walls, success stories and grinning toothless babies paper the walls.
He says he's running out of words to describe her progress.
He uses . . .
He uses . . .
Spectacular.
Why? she asks.
Words like follicle, measurements, and egg retrieval are floating in this room where hope surges to a new level. Where a heart and mind struggle to come together and maintain the shadow of doubt necessary to keep heart from shattering. Where heart and mind fail.
the days of wait ahead
the promise of your prayers for her and others like her, where the heart only desires what the arms ache to hold
My list, #'s 415-424.
