We watched a movie the other night called “Miracles From
Heaven”. It was one of the best movies I’ve
seen, but it was emotionally taxing to watch. So much of their journey reminded me of my own. I didn’t expect the memories or the pain to come
back so quickly or so easily. In a room
full of people, I found myself holding back the tears until I just couldn’t.
Like Emmy, the mother’s daughter is faced with a life and
death struggle. And like me, the mother had to deal with doctors and
desperately seek appointments, only to be turned down again and again. She had to fight and advocate for her child,
she faced church-goers who blamed the disease on her sin, she had to hide choke
back her sobs when she answered the phone, and deal with a depression knowing
that her life as she knew it had ended. Like
that mommy, I witnessed a miracle and even dealt with the press on a
controversial subject. All of a sudden I found myself facing the raw pain of a wound that will never fully heal, and
I discovered that I desperately need that gash to my heart to remain opened so that I can remember. I must always remember.
While there were many similarities, the difference between
that little girl’s mommy and Emmy’s mommy is that I never lost faith. I never thought for one minute that God didn’t
hear me. I never felt like His will was
faulty or imperfect. Yet I continued to
pray that He’d take away her Down syndrome.
I still hoped the tests were wrong. I still wanted a typical baby with
typical abilities. I prayed knowing that
he would answer, and He did. He said ‘no’.
I was never angry with God.
I didn’t understand, but I knew that He kept His promises and that He
had a plan and a purpose. And when I
prayed all these months that He would use her to bring Him glory and fame and
lead others to the foot of His throne, I never doubted that He would
answer. And He did answer. He said ‘yes’.
Last night, just like every night, her sisters and her daddy
gave her kisses, and Emmy waved her good-night.
Just like every other night, I carried her up the stairs and kissed her
face. And just like every other night, her
arms wrapped around my neck, I felt her smile on my cheek, and I prayed to Jesus. But last night, instead of putting her down
immediately, I cried.
Maybe it was the movie, maybe it was God’s gift of taking me back to the pain, or maybe it was my overwhelming love for her in
her footy pajamas, smelling like baby shampoo, and giving me a mostly toothless
smile while babbling her night-nights.
But in that moment, all I felt was an immense gratitude. And all I could
do was cry out my thanks for His denial.
I thanked Him for knowing more than I do, for knowing better than I do,
and for loving me so much that He would give her to me. And I thanked Him for the ability to change
my heart so that I don’t want to change her.
She was born exactly as He had designed, and He’s going to grow her into
who she’s supposed to be. There is no
greater gift for a mommy.
In the movie, the mother said that we can either live our
lives as if nothing is a miracle, or we can live our lives as if everything is
a miracle. For this mommy, the choice will always be
easy.
