It was raining that day...

It was raining that day, when we stood between the two worst days of our lives. Yesterday we had just gotten the news. Tomorrow he would going into a 6 hour surgery to save his life. Today, we were stopped in motion, unsure of what to do, where to go, how to breathe. Me, heavy with this life we no longer wanted to rush out of his safe haven. Trevor, heavy with eternity knocking on his door.

What do you do on the last day things will ever be "normal?" We stood in the rain, feeling winter creep upon our town. Together we were an island, seperated from all that was around us. Seperated by this crushing burden, thrust upon us so suddenly.

We tried so hard to not dwell on the "what ifs?" Instead, we forced ourselves out into that big cold world where no one knew our lives were about to change forever. As we sat at the little Mexican restaraunt, people laughing, talking, living such seperate lives, I wanted to stop them and whisper, "Tomorrow my husband is having brain surgery. We are not okay. We feel so alone...Please, sit with us today."

Last year marked 2 years tumor-free, and we celebrated the fact that if it hadn't come back by then, it most likely wouldn't. 

This year, as we get ready for our first MRI in 2 years, so close to the date we found ourselves caught in the storm of our lives, we kneel to the God who already knows what that MRI will hold, who was faithful then, and will continue to be faithful no matter what the future holds for this family. Whether it be famine, plague, death, or poverty, we serve the Lord, and offer up our lives as an offering to Him. We do not live for the temporal. We do not live for the material. We do not live for each other or ourselves. At least we try really hard not to. 

Life is so fleeting. As Mat Kearney so perfectly puts it, "I guess we're all one phone call from our knees." It's true. I've gotten a lot of those phone calls in my life. And I'm sure you have too. I'm still slowly learning this, but just because I've gotten so many of those phone calls in the past, doesn't mean they are over. God doesn't "owe" me a turbulent-free ride the rest of the way. I bow to His will. 

3 years ago today, October 1st, 2009, we were so unsure what the future held. I wish I could whisper into my own ear that rainy day. "It's going to be ok. It really is. Not just in the cliche 'Christian' response way. He'll survive. He'll be there when Jeremiah is born. You won't have to do this alone. The tumor won't be cancerous. You'll be able to have more children...and believe me, when you are where I am now, you'll laugh that you ever feared that. Life will flourish and swell with so much love and laughter some days, you will just cry and not be able to hold back the joy and thank-you's to a God who heard your cry for mercy and help. He hears you! Marybeth, He hears you! He is there, so close, and you are not alone, even if you feel more alone than ever before. Just hold Trevor's hand tight and look into those big blue eyes of his and smile. You've got one crazy ride ahead of you babe." 

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