And of how I praise gratitude not being a rule.
I sit here, fingers not knowing what key to stroke. And waves of life come crashing down at all moments. And how often we are caught off guard. And how it seems 2011 has been one wave crashing into the next and the next.
But He guard watches. Prepared. All knowing. How Father God stands, feet solid. And when we crash with the wave and lungs fill with an air poisoned with pain or confusion or fear or doubt or exhaustion or all and questions control our thoughts He rescues.
He rescues.
He breathes life. He breathes peace. He gently reminds that plans are not in the works. But already worked. And He future sees. And I trust. But He must keep reminding and I must never, can never catch breath clean and pure without His feet solid, dry ground.
And Sunday was good, really good. Even with flu all on the body of yet another child my energy was once again finally revived and life was flowing again into arms and legs spurred along with a power not felt for weeks, and it kept me up and going, working all day. Work that felt good. I felt good once again.
And I'm preparing to load car with what I need for church night. Church. I've been once in this new year. One Sunday in a year already filled with Sundays and days and events I've missed.
And phone rings.
He is quiet too quiet and when phone rings and there is only listening on his end my heart beats a little faster and I watch his face. His brow, his jaw clenches and I know. He nods to the door and we go outside. I stand on porch and wait.
And how can only mere moments last an eternity?
And he speaks it. And our gift of new life, nephew only twelve days living here has sternum rubs keeping him alive until machines take over and help. And these legs only energized newly today feel weak once again.
And how can only minutes drive feel like an eternity?
And how can part of heart so small, so young with life, fail?
He is answer to all questions, soother to all souls.
Hope of all life.
My list continues . . .
the book of Jonah
slow Sunday afternoon traffic
a house already clean
Tammy, unimmune to the flu but her promise she is, a friend taking - and loving - my children
the prayer warriors of CLIF
my mama's heart, a mama of grown women, remembering her young scared mama days. Her kind assurance
prayers for the pain in the eyes of other parents and families, unnamed and unknown to us, sharing the home of PICU
my two older baby girls, proven women in the making
my right arm, Sandra, and how she never fails
prayers from so many, for one so small, and the promise he is
My list, #'s 505-515.
