he entered the room slowly but with comfort. his shirt collar told me that he was used to these rooms, used to machines that attach their tentacles to bodies.
i agreed that he may, as my laptop perched on my lap, legs covered with new leggings whose patterns made me feel like a zebra. my overnight bag is being drawn out longer than we planned and I value clean clothes that haven’t slept on hospital recliners.
“I’m the Chaplain here, and I was wondering if I could pray for you.”
i welcomed him for both of us, my sparrow’s eyes pulled tightly shut by pain meds and a healing leg.
“now, i have to say that i saw something this morning. my wife sent me a video.”
i knew what he was about to say, because it happens so often.
“i saw a video of you two this morning. i think my wife was trying to tell me something about our own marriage, about my steadfastness.”
“did you know we were here?” I asked.
that’s when a little miracle began to unfold in our little hospital room, as the sun heating the city to over 70 beat down on his bed.
“my wife asked if maybe i had prayed for you when the accident happened.”
we were in the same hospital.
“i spent a lot of time on the neuro ICU unit.”
he mentioned unit 4G, a place that had become a home for 7 weeks. that’s where we were. so he probably had prayed for us. he probably had been there when my sparrow was failing 4 out of 5 brain activity tests.
“when my wife asked, i looked into my records, wondering if i had met you before. and then i saw that you’re here now. and it confirmed what the Spirit had been telling me.”
before seeing today’s census, before realizing that we were just a few flights up from him, he felt burdened to add our story to his team’s prayer family. before he knew we were in again, before he knew about a surgery.
“not a sparrow falls,” he said, his faith strengthened because we both knew coincidences didn’t exist.
this little miracle, that a video seen by a chaplain’s wife put into motion, buried itself into my heart.
“God is amazing.”
he agreed. because we’ve only been here three mornings. the video seen any other day wouldn’t have led to that, wouldn’t have led to the chaplain anointing and praying over my sparrow for miracles.
he recounted all that he has seen in the ICU’s, in 10 years as chaplain, as constantly seeing the miraculous.
and my mind turned back to earlier in the day, when we received a visit from his original neurosurgeon for which we had hoped. a visit from the man who has seen inside my sparrow’s brain and has seen how near he was to death. a man that reminded us of the incredible number of odds that my sparrow has overcome and who still takes an interest in us.
the chaplain and the neurosurgeon, our lives all weaving together for these hours, threads of a story that we won’t know in full. threads that have lasted more than 8 years. threads that still continue to weave beautiful miracles. threads that we would not have chosen but that are creating an immense tapestry, far more beautiful than we could have created on our own.
yesterday was a big day for ian. a day that he willingly walked into because he believes in God’s faithfulness and provision for his future.
we took on yesterday because we believe that ian is too young to give up hope on him walking again.
we let yesterday into our lives because we have an incredible surgeon who loves ian.
yesterday happened because God brought walking back into ian’s life through his hard work, an incredible caregiver and a stubborn therapist who changed our lives. their work meant this surgery could happen.
and God went beyond our expectations, letting an expected 8 hour surgery happen in less than 3.
and now ian’s leg heals. and it heals into straightness, a shape it hasn’t been in since eight years ago.
he heals under the hums of the hospital room and next door patients.
and we enter into a new season of recovery. and remembering that God still knows us.
please keep me in mind on friday. i will having surgery on my right leg. please pray for rest the night before, wisdom for me going into it, strength for me in my mind and for my wifey, that she would be strong.
28 years have been lived, 9 of them with me knowing you.
more than all, you’ve added to my life.
to others, you always bring laughter. joy. faith.
in 28 short years, your fragile bones and weakness have changed lives, been seen by more than a million and have drawn eyes to see that you live for something bigger than yourself.
you’re not reminded enough, that no one has shown me God more than you, has changed my life more than you, has driven me more crazy than you. in the good, and the bad.
your 28 years are indescribably valuable.
your life has indescribable worth.
happy birthday, my dear. i’m glad we enter year 29 together.
we hadn’t seen this doctor in awhile, nearly three years, and back then ian wasn’t walking yet.
back then we had shown the surgeon a video of ian trying to walk, but we were moving his legs for him, and he didn’t have much strength to do it on his own.
this time, though, ian walked for the surgeon. the surgeon that had seem him hours after his accident.
‘it’s a minor miracle,” he said, that he was doing what we’d all been praying for, that he was getting his leg to move that has a jumbled up mess of bone and metal screws and scars instead of a knee. that that crazy excuse for a knee was holding up 170 pounds, balancing it as he turned and letting him move forward.
“ian, you made my year.”
he made ours, too, because those doctors that saw him those first few hours are the only ones that knew what he looked like, knew what his body had been wrung through. they were the doctors that were inside his flesh and skull and really, actually know how bad it was.
and each time we see those two doctors, every few years, they see God. they might not know it, but they see God in the legs that move and the voice that now speaks words.
he made our year. because it’s easy to forget all that has been done.
the surgery may come into our lives, or it may not. those are questions to be turned into and through God’s hands and our hearts.
but for now, we acknowledge that God is God, and we are not.
this winter has been long, the coldness of the east and the clouds of what often feels like the second-rainiest town in the country making some days feel longer than 24 hours. my heart has been stretched, and not everything i’ve prayed for has happened. so how does a heart that often feels weary keep building faith, and courage? how does a heart guard against the lies that unanswered prayers bring shame?
sitting by the fireplace sparks last night, i unknowingly stumbled into these words, which were perfectly timed:
“knowing the truth always sets us free (john 8:32). knowing the truth about God, his unceasing ability to perform miracles and the truth about the undeniable role of suffering under the new covenant only frees me up to believe Him more. Why? because i’m freed from what scares me, and many of you, most about getting out there and believing God. we’re scared half to death that He won’t come through for us, dignify us with a yes, and prove faithful. or that we’ll prove to be failures at having enough belief for Him to bless with a miracle. if i’m convinced that God really loves me and has certain priorities for me that may take precedence at times, then i am “safe” to walk by faith. i am freed to know that my God is huge and my God is able and that if i’ll cooperate, i’ll get something bigger. i’m going to believe Him to do anything His Word says He can do, then if he chooses not to, i don’t have to assume he doesn’t like me, he doesn’t answer my prayers like He does others, he hardly knows i’m alive, he can’t do it, he’s never willing to do it, i didn’t have enough faith, i wavered for a split second, i have that sin in my past, i’m a failure, i’ve made a fool of myself.
instead, i get to know that a greater yes is in progress, and i can count on the bigger miracle.
beloved, we are safe in God. we are safe to believe Him for miracles……we are safe with God because we are his priority.”
i snuck away from work today, just to visit his session and see how things were going.
this face of his has been making me smile so much lately, and i wanted to see his progress.
the progress he had made last week, when i found him here, in the basement of the therapy office, walking with the parallel bars.
“the bars gave him the confidence he needed,” the therapist said today.
the confidence to do this.
to take steps on his own.
for the first time in eight years.
she didn’t think he was ready, to have her let go and let him slowly work it on his own.
i had told her months ago that if he was closing to taking even one step without support, i needed to know. i wanted to be there.
we didn’t think that would be today.
but it was.
and i was there.
and his caregiver who has been with him for seven years.
and after eight years of hard work and not giving up and not letting discouragement take over, he’s broken through something that has been holding him back.
“it gives me hope for my future,” he said, as we sat on the couch waiting for our 15 and then some guests to arrive at our spontaneous party, because everything needs a celebration.
his niece and nephew have been praying for him, and when they heard the news, even their little hearts knew.
“uncle ian,” his four year old voice said. “god answered our prayers and you’re walking on your own without falling down.”
“uncle ian,” her voice cracked, three years of happiness breaking through. “He (God) saved our message. and i’m grateful because you’re walking.”
God did save our message, our prayers, and He hasn’t forgotten them. He was not dependent on our faith.
he fell into sleep easily tonight, his tired muscles needing their rest and his brain needing silence.
he fell asleep as a good man who hasn’t given up and who has known all along, deep in his heart, that His God is for him – always.
words to share have not been many on here this year, yet God is keeping us, as we finish our book and search for a house to buy and wait for the breaking of spring.
ian continues to see God’s help in therapy, progressing to walking with just the help of parallel bars and not his therapist. he’s not giving up.
we’re thankful that joy in our marriage is not granted because of our merit but because God loves us and treats us as His children.
i’ve been waiting for her book, since she mentioned the thesis in a philadelphia restaurant last spring.
she wanted to share the biblical perspective on women’s work, that it’s not defined by location or geography. it’s not defined by diapers or conference calls.
thank you, friend, for writing this.
“as Christians, we are to be grounded in this identity (…a follower of Christ…) even as we add other roles and ways to express that identity in relationship to others. we might have an interesting job for a season. we might be married for a season. we might have children at home for a season.
but those things can be taken away from us or never given to us at all. they are gifts for this life only.
Jesus has promised that if we choose to sit at his feet, we have made the best choice of all. we will inherit the better portion, that which will never be taken away; a relationship with God, his word and the promise of eternal rewards and life with him in heaven. in one simple sentence, Jesus shifts our earthbound perspective and takes us high above our daily lives to see the importance of being His disciple.”
