Every year around this time I start getting overwhelmed. It comes and goes, but with it brings absolute fear that this might be the time it hangs on. I find my moods a lot more up and down. I find my triggers a little more sensitive. I find myself barely hanging in there and then feeling guilty for even feeling that way.
I have found that while the kids are in school, a trip to my church alone always calms me even if just for a little bit. This is the place where I have felt the hand of God on my shoulder most often. This is the place where God allows me to fulfill my calling for teaching children. This is the place I walk in, and everyone knows and loves me. This is the place I made my vows to my husband even though neither of us were saved. This is the place that God led me to in order to find Jesus after years of running from Him. This is the place that I continue in prayer for my husband and that I ask that God please help me to be a better light. In this place, I find my family and they find me. It's just a building. The way God moves in this building, for me, is what makes it so special to me.
Just over 7 years ago, I went through a battle like no other. I battled past myself and my hopelessness and my fears to stay steadfast in the faith that my son would be ok. I have often said that I don't know what I would have done without the comfort that can only come from knowing the the Lord had me and my child in the palm of His hand.
Then, you fast forward one year (to the day) after his surgery. It was the party to end all parties (or that's what it felt like anyway). I had planned this celebration of Lincoln for-what seemed like- years. I wanted it to be perfect...just as perfect as him. I made grilled cheeses for everyone (because that was his favorite thing to eat). We had burgers, baked beans, mac and cheese, and all the fixins'. We had a smorgasbord of candy treats and other sweets. It was a radio flyer birthday because, to me, radio flyers always seem so whimsical and over the top. Of course things were not perfect. The music for his slideshow wouldn't play. He had skipped his nap and was in a bad mood. A huge storm came and blew away our canopy. There were a lot of inconveniences that helped warp my perspective of that day. Aggravated, I laid Lincoln down for a nap in the sanctuary while we cleaned up.
This is the part that gives me chills to this day. After the party was over...after the work was done...after the people had left and the gifts were snuggly packed in the cars...after the cake and the thank yous were over...I went in the sanctuary to get Lincoln. And there he was. It had gotten dark in the sanctuary with the exception of lone light beams shining in through the stained glass and shining directly on my baby who I had inadvertently laid at the alter. It was as if He were offering him back to me...beckoning me to accept His gift to me. Lincoln was a gift of grace and a gift of love. I can only imagine how Mary felt, after watching Jesus suffer, to see Him rise again. I hit my knees right then just like I had the year before, but this time as I wept, I didn't have to plead. I spoke words of praise to His Holy Name.
Once I stood, the minor inconveniences of the day were gone and the joy that the day brought with it was all that was left. I walk in the church alone, and I am reminded of that day each time. It really helps to put things in perspective. That's where I find my calm. That's where I remember what God has done for me.
Numbers 6:24-26
24 The LORD bless thee, and keep thee: 25 The LORD make his face shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee: 26 The LORD lift up his countenance upon thee, and give thee peace.
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