...is of dancing with my father at a family wedding. My mom's brother, Uncle Rob, was getting married. My sister and I wore matching dresses made by my Aunt Beth. I remember being uncomfortable in my dress and tights, but I enjoyed the grown-up "click" that my heels made as they hit the floor in my white shoes. I remember a small room and smaller dance floor. I remember the closeness of all the people, most of whom I didn't know. I remember thinking I had never been with adults who acted so wildly. There was so much laughter, so much hugging, lots of dancing. I remember being nervous on the dance floor. Maybe because I felt so small or maybe because everyone else seemed to know what to do and I didn't. Whatever the reason, I remember the feeling when my dad lifted me up to dance in his arms.
Even now, as I write this, I get a little misty-eyed. Do you recall the first memory of feeling overwhelmingly safe in your parent's arms? There is a rush of fear followed by tingling calm because you know there is danger so nearby yet you are certain to be saved from it. Like the fleeting moment when you cannot find your mom in the grocery store, only to turn a corner and see her just steps away. Running back to hold the hem of her clothes, you are aware in some way of the risks of being outside her grasp. And you rest again as you cling to her, vowing to stay close.
Dancing in my father's arms brought such joy as I knew how secure I was in his care. And it brought such exhilaration as I felt his happiness in my presence and his great love for me. I remember thinking, in my dress and tights and white shoes and curled hair, that this must be what princesses do all day. Oh, how I wanted to be a princess forever.
Tonight, with my young son swaddled up for bed, I stood and rocked him to sleep in our room. Given the amount of space taken up by Luke's medical equipment, there is no chair to sit in. Instead, I stand and rock. As I swayed tonight with Luke in my arms, I remembered dancing with my father. I thought of how my son has an intimate understanding of his safety in my arms. It is evident in the way he immediately nestles in to my chest and closes his eyes. His heart rate slows and his breathing evens out. He is calm. In the morning, when he wakes and sees my face above his bed, he grins. Before I say a word to him, he greets me with a smile. My son knows he is loved. As I danced with Luke tonight, I counted the many ways I feel my Heavenly Father's love.
Our boy has been home a week. That is my first gift. God brought our boy home again. After just a week at home, our hospital stay is almost a distant memory. Already, our lives are consumed with the daily activities of living under one roof. We consider the future again, but are wiser now and treasure our present time more. God taught us many lessons during our first two months home, and we know now to hold tight to our hours together and take ownership of this precious time. We said 'no' to continual follow-up appointments with specialists and too-frequent therapies. We said 'yes' to home nursing care, though only three days a week, to allow me more focused time with big brother, Jack. We are learning the multitude of ways that we must kindly use our voice to advocate for our children. God is giving me gentleness in speech as I understand how to express our needs to the dozens of strangers invading our lives now. This gentleness is another gift.
In the nine nights our son has been home, John and I have slept little. Luke sleeps fairly well through the night, but still requires continual care. Soon, we will learn to safely sleep through his many noises, knowing that the monitors he is connected to will alert us to any harm. Like any new parents, we will be able to pick up on the more important cues. In the meantime, we are up about every 90 minutes, feeding, suctioning, cleaning or changing our son. Despite this, God has granted me unbelievable patience. I have felt calm and clear-headed during the day. When performing (stress-inducing) trach care at night, John and I continue to work smoothly as a team. On top of this, my two-year-old's selfish antics have been met with more serenity than could be expected on so few decent hours of sleep. I am constantly aware of how God is giving me the strength, patience and clarity that I have throughout the day. I am swaying in my Father's arms, lifted out from beneath trampling feet and brought into the joy He has designed for me.
In the midst of what could be lonely chaos, God has surrounded me with a husband, family and friends who are kind, supportive, and continually generous. He is challenging me to understand what humility might look like for us in this season. I must admit that feeling small and helpless in this time is not a failure, but a necessity. I have to recognize my frailty in each moment so that there is abounding joy when He sweeps me up into His arms.
Tonight, as I held my little boy, I was reminded of the joy and peace of being held by my own father. And I knew in that moment that my Heavenly Father was holding me as well, as He always has. And so we danced.
1 comment:
So beautiful.
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