The jeep died randomly. It would just decide it had enough of this cruel world and turn off. In, of course, the most convenient places conceivable: like waiting to turn left at an intersection. Or better yet, as we were turning right through an intersection. The currently enormous driver of the jeep would then throw both of her hands up in terror, as if her Messiah might mercifully grant her telekinetic powers for an instant to fend off oncoming traffic. The aforementioned oncoming traffic would turn its head as it peered curiously at the convulsing walrus planted in the driver seat of a jeep lodged in the midst of traffic flow (in the same way a curious puppy pauses to consider a butterfly).
But we were never hit. Because God just wouldn't let us out that easily. His protection encircled us in utterly irrational ways. And for our preservation we worshiped. Because it was beyond our control.
And who could forget the Beast Wagon incident(s)? But no matter how many times the Subaru overheated and died, a glug of water and thirty minutes of fervent prayer later it always came back to us. We prayed for new cars. We prayed for someone to hit us so we could just grab the insurance and get new cars. We prayed for divine miracles of a coolant nature. What we got were two cars that overheated and/or died several times a week. And faith. And Patience. And perspective on needs and blessings. And for these gifts we worshiped. Because it was beyond our control.
*****
Hannah was born on November 22nd. It was a Friday. Justin's clinicals ended on Thursday night. For three days I got him all to myself, to help me bring another child into the world. A child I wasn't ready for. A child I didn't know how we would provide for. A child, who with the first blink of her eyes, as she was laid on my chest, drenched my world in sunlight.
And for my daughter I worshiped. With my daughter, I worshiped. Because her whole life was beyond my control. But the exquisiteness of her every breath was known and adored by our King of majesty. In the unknown we found joy. In my fear, I was given Hannah, from my Friend, my God. And as a family we worshiped.
I woke in the dark, of that hospital room, at 1:00am to feed my daughter. My husband was already up, studying Med/Surg in the corner.
*****
Justin started clinical rotations during the second year of nursing school. His day would begin at 6:00pm in the ICU. After the shift was done at 3:00am, he would drive straight to work and prepare lab samples until 8:00am. He would drive home to sleep for an hour, shower, make lunch, and then he would be to class by 10:00am. Class would get out at 5:00pm, and he would drive back to the hospital to start it all again. We would go for days without seeing him. When we did see him, it was with pity for clearly, one of the undead had lunched on his throat, and our beloved husband and father was turning into a zombie.
It was a blessing. His work allowed him to come in at ridiculous hours. We could pay the mortgage.
The loneliness consumed me. My care for my children became automatic, robotic. I found empathy for single moms: empathy and admiration. How could anyone do anything beyond the bare essentials by themselves with two children?
Justin's blood pressure spiked. His grades began to drop. Everything seemed to be racing out of our control.
But alone, at night, I worshiped. Because my baby girl breathed heavily in her crib. By son slept peacefully in his bed, and if nothing else on the planet, I knew He heard my worship. And being heard by Someone was enough. This darkness would not last.
*****
Someone got us sick. By Christmas time, Noah, Hannah, and I were so ill we didn't want a Christmas. We just wanted everyone to leave us alone as we wallowed in our misery. Justin somehow avoided the worst of it. He finished his finals and passed all of his classes, and had the holiday off to help care for our sick children. Noah's cold developed into a double ear infection. Hannah's sickness moved into her eyes, which became swollen almost shut. There was a long, miserable night. But there were two of us to fight this battle. God had given me my husband back in the knick of time. We couldn't fight the sickness, but we could stand together. We worshiped through the colds. Because long ago, one night in Bethlehem, another new baby opened his eyes in wonder at the frailty of humanity. And He empathizes with our weakness, with our hurt, with our sickness. We worshiped because it was Christmas.
*****
At Easter time Hannah's face broke out with painful sores. I waited for them to heal. They did not. Instead the rash spread down her body and up to the top of her head. When I woke her in the morning, her crib would be bloody from the scrapes left by her nails. We went countless times to the doctor. He prescribed every cream known to modern man, shy of steroids. We had to get antibiotics for the large sores on her head. I was helpless and heartbroken.
My daughter is rough and tumble. And tough. While my heart broke at every sight of her itchy skin, she giggled and grew and adventured. The gloomier I became, the sunny she appeared. God gave me this daughter for this reason, to turn my mourning into laughter. And I worshiped through the heartbreak; because how could you not sing praise with a baby girl so amazing.
*****
We survived to early June. Justin worked less and less hours. But somehow we still paid the bills. And he passed all of his classes. We had very little control over anything in life. But we had a God of mercy and grace. We had a reason to worship. Because He is God. And if we could only imagine a moment of His plan the joy would capsize our souls and teach us to swim where our feet cannot touch down and where the hope cannot be drowned.
All of my life
In every season
You are still God
I have a reason to sing
I have a reason to worship
And I will bring praise
I will bring praise
No weapon formed against me shall remain
I will rejoice
I will declare
God is my victory and He is here
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