Today is exactly 2 weeks since I received the call that my Mom's heart
had stopped and she had been airlifted to a cardiac center near their home.
2 weeks since that moment where everything was stripped down to 2 things.
Love and fear. They filled me.
I realized in that crystallized moment of time how much I love the woman who birthed me.
And how scared I was that I would never hear her say my name again.
The doctors said she could wake up or maybe she wouldn't, they didn't know.
We found as we crowded into hospital room where she lay in induced coma,
that we couldn't stand the fear, it sucked the air from the room and
left us weeping.
But the love part...that is what gave us words.
Telling her who she was, what she meant to us, how we knew she needed
to rest but come Friday morning when they brought her out of sedation,
she was going to need to wake up and come back to us.
My mom always lit a candle on the kitchen counter whenever someone needed prayer
to remind her to pray for them throughout the day.
All around the world friends and family lit candles and lifted prayers for Mom,
posting the pictures of the candles on facebook.
Sometimes technology is a tool of the Holy Spirit.
Those prayers bolstered and held us in that place of love in the coming days
When we were woken up at 2 am Friday morning and told that Mom was
waking up, a new reality hit. We pretty much lost our minds with joy.
Now we are living in those Lazarus moments with Mom.
The ones I am sure that Mary and Martha had around the breakfast table
the weeks after Jesus brought him up out of the tomb.
Saying things like, "We were so scared." and "You look so so so good" and
"Can I get you anymore tea?" and "I just love you so much."
Mom doesn't remember a thing about those dark days.
But we are forever changed.
It is why I have to keep writing about it, talking with friends about it, mulling it over.
We were traumatized. And then we were given a miracle.
Now it is all about weaving that miracle into the fabric of everyday life.
We still need toilet paper and have to pay bills. Life goes on.
But there is an underlying sense that percolating under this thin veneer of normalcy
is a love that is so strong and wide and deep, it anchors us to the One who gives
us life even in the greatest moments of fear and need.
While it is the routine of real life that is bringing back my sense of equilibrium
and peace, I don't want to forget what we have walked through.
I don't want to breathe a sigh of relief and say,
"Now we can go back to normal."
I need the pulse of God's love to pound through me each day,
making me aware of the gift this life is. Showing me how to trust him and his ways.
Teaching me how to love the people he has given me better.
I can't control the world around me. I know that scary things can still happen.
But I can kiss my boys more and hold Scott's hand more and tether myself to the
God who loves us the most and speaks life over us.
As I lay in bed typing this, I can hear Mom and Dad stirring down the hall.
I think I'll go check on them and see if they would like a cup of tea.