one moment to the next.

Last Wednesday night- just around 5 pm- lies a memory that Ginny & I
will not soon forget.  For both the best & worst of reasons.

I had taken the double stroller and kiddos on a walk so Ginny could
have a second to prepare dinner.  Looking back, there seems nothing
unusual- even the route was the same one I so often take when the
rascals are along for the ride.  No unusual details stand out, other
than maybe the fact that Hazel did not seem to insist on “park, park,
park” like she is famous for when we stroll down the street and
anywhere near the little plot of land by our house with slides and
swings.

I unbuckled her and she began to walk around the front yard, while I
played with Anders, who was still trying to wake up from his longest
nap of the week.  She came over to sit beside me, and when I glanced
at her, she swooned and fell from a seated position onto the sidewalk.

I picked her up, and ran inside yelling for Ginny.

The next few minutes included no activity from Hazel, but much
activity all around her.  Ginny was frantically asking the 911
operator to, “please come help my baby”.  And I was crouched over her
on the floor, praying to Jesus and trying to conjure up any training
or notion of what to do- it seemed that if I could only think
straight, then maybe I could recall some way to help my daughter.  But
nothing came to mind.  And I was helpless and angry, yelling to Ginny
to tell the operator that “we didn’t need to talk to someone, we
needed someone to get their ass here and help us”.

And as the fire truck appeared outside of our house, Hazel was
returning inside.  She was lethargic, but she was back.

After fiver hours of E.R poking and prodding, we now know it was a
seizure caused by a temperature spike.  She is fine.  It is quite
common, and I had one myself thirty years ago.  Everything is O.K.,
and she is back doing frog impressions and rallying for “park, park,
park”.

I am not sure what exactly I feel or think- other than it would be
fine if that never happened again.  It seems like this is the time
that I should  insert praises to God- thanking Him for giving me back
the daughter that I thought I was watching die.  And I do shout with
the angels in bursting joy that I held my daughter this morning when
she woke.  I held her tight, as I always have.

But it is more of a bowed acknowledgement than the exuberance I would
expect; because, I have lived the other side of the coin.  I have
approached Him when He did not come through the way I wanted.  So
jumping up and down now feels something like taking on the cliche role of
a Hollywood star who thanks Jesus upon receiving a trophy.  It seems
a little trite- even though it is undeniably proper.

Can I trust Him in all circumstances?  Could I love Him if Wednesday’s story did not end the way it did?
These are not rhetorical.
But true love and a pure faith cannot be contingent on the fulfillment of my own desires.

Thank you God for all you have done.
Thank you so much for watching over us this week.
Thank you for sweet Hazel.  For her smile and her spirit.
Please help Ginny & I to process this last week.
Help us to not live in the fear that comes so easy.
Thank you for Hazel.
Thank you for Eliot.