Wednesday, March 18, 2009

I spoke before of how I continually put God into a box. After Jillian walked for the first time the day after surgery due to the removal of the bones and scar tissue affecting her balance, God busted out of that box and looked me full in the face. That’s the problem with these boxes I build. Not only does it limit what I think He can do, but sometimes it makes Him nearly impossible to see. But even after I saw Him in His majesty that day, I picked up the hammer and nails of fear and doubt and started constructing a new box. Bigger, but confining all the same.

You met Seth not long ago. The story of his little life and the tragedy and triumph of his family have changed every single life it touches. It was because of their heartache and the testimony through their trials that I felt such an urgency to ensure Seth would one day hear.

I didn’t even hear the creaking of the nails as they began to loosen...

Then, I received an email that a check for $20,000 was in the mail to Rhyan’s Hope to cover Seth’s insurance expenses from the same family that donated for Jillian. In just a few short months, Seth will not only have one cochlear implant, he’ll have two. He won’t just be able to see the love in his Mommy’s eyes. He’ll hear it in her voice.

And that box is sawdust at my feet...


Thursday, March 12, 2009

The conversation was effortless. I stepped away for a moment and when I turned around, I found myself a spectator to the most beautiful scene playing out before me. I could hear bits and pieces of the separate discussions. The men were talking of serving their country and the age old man-glue of football. The women, whose hearts were knit with divine thread before they ever met, were talking about the purpose of our gathering.
I listened as Andrea told of all the changes Jillian made since her second implant. She was telling Christen of how Jillian was responding when her name was called, the new words she’s now saying and obvious miracle that she is walking.
But, as I watched one of the single most momentous events of my life, I saw that Jillian isn’t just talking and she isn’t just walking. As the adults were engrossed in their conversations, I observed as Jillian weaved in and out from amongst them. I heard her laughter as she responded to her Mommy’s voice. I heard her say ‘mama’ and ‘bye bye’. I saw her circle them as if binding them together with an invisible cord. Then realizing that she was. But, what was imprinted on my heart that night was that she wasn’t only talking, she was singing. And she wasn’t only walking. She was dancing.
Life is so complicated. In our hurts and fears we become deaf to what God is whispering to our hearts. We can’t hear that He loves us always and He will never, ever leave us. That on the other side of our pain, He holds our song. We aren’t alone in our sorrow. And when we’re able to grasp that and listen for His voice, not only will we learn to sing His song, but we’ll find the joy to dance.
The photo above is of Jillian giving her Mommy’s gift to Christen. A frame that holds her picture and a recording of her sweet little voice. It is a constant reminder that miracles still happen, if we’re willing to listen when He speaks and walk where He leads. Thank you, again, Chris, Christen and every precious one of you that donated for Jillian's implant. Because of you, she has her song. And a lifetime of dancing.
With love, Courtney