Sinking

"16 People swear by someone greater than themselves, and the oath confirms what is said and puts an end to all argument. 17 Because God wanted to make the unchanging nature of his purpose very clear to the heirs of what was promised, he confirmed it with an oath. 18 God did this so that, by two unchangeable things in which it is impossible for God to lie, we who have fled to take hold of the hope set before us may be greatly encouraged. 19 We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain, 20 where our forerunner, Jesus, has entered on our behalf. He has become a high priest forever, in the order of Melchizedek." (Hebrews 6)

I am one who has "fled to take hold of the hope set before us."  With the good news of Wylie's heart healing and her growth being reported by the doctor yesterday as "good," I have felt buoyant and light.  Last night, I read some Trisomy-18 stories.  I was looking for hope in them.  I did not find the kind that I needed.  I wanted to hear about exceptions, miracles, longer, more normal lives.  There are so very few of those.

I had an ultrasound this morning.  Wylie's fists were clenched, her heel rounded--tell-tale indicators of the Trisomy-18 genetic anomaly.  Tears came and more tears came--tell-tale indicators of a momma's broken heart.  Again, the hope I needed could not be found with my eyes.  In fact, they are still burning, sore from looking and weeping.

I called Gavin from the car.  He is out of town and couldn't be at the appointment.  "The possibility of her death is sinking in," I told him.  We prayed.  Gavin asked God for His strength, courage, wisdom, peace, comfort, and help.  "We need you, God."  That was the cry of my heart, too.

I drove home so, so reluctantly.  How can I face my children?  What do I say about this sinking realization?  What do I do?  I prayed again.  "Ok, Jesus.  Will you please show up for us today?" and I got out of my car.

I gathered them to find hope together. "Will you pray with me, children?"  Yes, they were all willing.  I told them about Wylie's balled fists and the sinking in my heart that she just might not live long at all.  We prayed and then the children shared what was on their hearts and in their minds as a result.

"Wylie has life, Mom.  Her life cannot be taken away,"  one asserted through tears.

Another offered, "God loves Wylie so much.  It's going to be okay for us."

Others posed so many questions like:

Why is this happening to us?  To Wylie?
What does it mean that her fists aren't opening?
I know Jesus died on the cross for us, so why does this have to happen?
So, she'll come out and then we will have her for just a second?

We don't know these answers.  We do keep coming back to truths that are cause for rejoicing:

--Wylie is all gift--a perfect one for our family.

--God's whole design is incomprehensible and incomprehensibly good.

--Jesus weeps with us out of a desire and wish that we could see now what will be made perfectly clear one day when all things will be made new and all things will be redeemed.

One sat nearer and looked right into my eyes.  "God is so much bigger than Trisomy-18."  Oh, yes, Daughter.  This is the hope for which I've been looking.  Death may be sinking into my heart, but hope is an anchor that goes deeper still.  Hope is a Person who shows up and does for us what we cannot do for ourselves--is who we cannot be.  My heart is lifted for my Savior rides upon the anchor of Hope that sinks deeper than death and disease to hold our souls, firm and secure.