This is what I know.
I know my heart aches to watch my daughter crumple to the ground, her legs too weak to skip, or twirl, or run till she can’t catch her breath.
I know a mother shouldn’t have to sing lullabies to calm her baby as she twists and wrestles to be free, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes as she’s poked again and again.
I know the mom in the crowded waiting room of the ER, with her head bowed over the sleeping pile of a sick child, belongs at home with her feet propped on a table, her son tucked in his Thomas Train comforter in his bed.
I know I’m not alone in suffering. I know we can only drink life in as bittersweet cocktail of overflowing joy and aching emptiness.

But I know so much more.

I know I am blessed more than my words can ever express.
I know a daddy that pushes his baby around the hospital floors for hours on end, who wears an ash cross on his forehead, his eyes filled with tears, but his heart full of unwavering loyalty and trust. A husband that stays all night on one half of a twin cot because he knows his wife needs him.
I know a doctor run ragged with slumped shoulders, walking home, used up and tired, who’s hands have healed more lives than faces he can remember,
I know the warm blanket of peace wrapped around me amid the chorus of children’s cries and the dull ache of fear and uncertainty.
I know more food than my belly can hold, more prayers whispered than I can imagine, more kindness than I can repay
I know that when we’re broken, the love that binds us back together, makes us more complicated, and more beautiful.
I know a little girl who can’t walk, but believes she can “fly” through the trees in a blue plastic swing.
I know a girl who will walk, and skip, and run again, with a life story that sings like a love song,
I know a God that gives me the eyes to see His grace tucked in this corner of a hospital room lulled to sleep by the hum of IV monitors and the snores of my little bird.


18 comments on “Learning to Fly”

  1. Lindsay,
    As I read your words, describing your gut wrenching experience, my heart aches for you and Pastor Nathan. I’m reminded of a time in 1980 when I sat with my daughter at St. Jude Hospital praying and crying my eyes out because the doctor didn’t know what was wrong with her at 18 months. Weeks later we would find out she had somonella and almost didn’t live through the first few days of being hospitalized. I felt so helpless. That was one of many times our Lord was with my husband and I and showed us His power of healing. I know He’s also with you, Pastor Bathan, Elyse, and Big sister Bree. I pray that all of you will feel the peace and comfort of of God hugging you tightly saying I’m here my Children I’ve got this!!! Thank you for always using your comforting words to share with us your readers. Hugs, Love, and Prayers for all of you!

  2. Beautifully and tenderly written as you are open your heart and share. Surrounding you with prayers so very very sorry and praying for wisdom for the doctors and strength for you and the family

  3. Your unwavering faith is amazing. You were raised in an incredible family who has always embraced the Lord.. I love you all and will continue on this journey with the entire family, with love, hope and prayers…

  4. Thanks for sharing your inner self. You and your beautiful baby girl are in our prayers. We share in your tears of sadness. Only God understands the suffering that we carry in this life. I look forward to asking him in heaven about so many unanswered why’s.

  5. I stopped by St Paul’s yesterday for service. I talked with both Mike and Sue and many others there welcomed me as if 12 years ago was yesterday. When I told Michelle (my daughter) she informed me of the battle your family is fighting. You are in my prayers. My the peace of Christ fill you always.

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