mending

I'm ready today, at 5:43am, to be here in front of the glowing white screen in the midst of this dark room where she rests in front of me, mending.

I really think I'm the one who is mending. Piece by piece the Lord is putting me back together. I don't know much about sewing. I mean, I have the sewing machine, a sewing table, thread, needles, and a dusty copy of How-To-Sew, but that doesn't mean I use those tools to create something beautiful. My mom does, every now and then, but I don't. I know there are different ways to stitch, like a cross-stitch or a zig-zag stitch, just like there are different ways to tie a knot. Again, things I know of but don't know how.

Isn't that just like us as believers sometimes...have all the tools but don't know what to do with them, don't know how. I have to believe that there is a way to stitch two pieces together that would actually make the garment stronger. I also have to believe that God is carefully, slowly putting me back together to make me stronger. I know Harper will be stronger. We are mending.

Yesterday I tried to post three different times throughout the day, but each time I sat down either the words escaped me or my girl needed me. Yesterday was a day of rest.

"Be still and know that I am God." This scripture comforted my soul all day long. Be still.

Doctor Cowboy showed up right after breakfast, God love him, and sat down to visit like an old friend. He watched Harper breathe the entire time, which looks great by the way, and asked about her behavior since Sunday morning, the scary morning. Basically he said to let her rest all day. Place a "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door for respiratory and physical therapy and let that girl rest. He is adamant about re-establishing the sleep cycle as part of the healing process. So we did. She slept most of the day and we both slept most of the night. I closed my eyes around 10pm and opened them at 5:20am when my girl whispered, "Mama, can you get in the bed with me?" I responded with the words of the great philosopher Napoleon Dynamite, "Heck yes!" I tossed the stuffed animals onto the sleeping bench, also known as a hospital couch, and climbed, literally, up into the bed to nestle beside my girl. We cuddled underneath that precious Tinker Bell blanket while I studied the slope of her nose, the rise of her sweet lips, and the curve of her eyelashes through the dim light seeping in from behind the privacy curtain. She is so beautiful. She is mending.

While I was laying, lying, (Am I an English teacher? So sorry kids.) next to Harper I kept thinking about us, and how we are both mending. Since I am wading through the waters of raising little girls, I was able to think of this great comparison: In the classic movie, "Tinker Bell and the Lost Treasure," Tink is given the task of creating a scepter to hold the beautiful, round moon stone, which reflects the light from the autumn moon to create pixie dust. (I know, this is deep stuff, brace yourself) Tinker Bell accidentally breaks the moon stone and fears she has ruined it forever, along with their ability to create pixie dust. Now, you just can't have fairies without pixie dust, so you can imagine how she was freaking out. Ok, blah, blah blah, she goes on a long journey to try to find another moon stone only to realize that she didn't need a new one, she could use the pieces of the broken stone to actually reflect more light. Ah-ha, ok, teachable moment. The broken pieces created more surface area which was able to reflect more light which created even more pixie dust for the fairies. Sometimes there is beauty in the breaking and even more beauty in the mending.

I am not talking about finding beauty in Harper getting sick. There is nothing beautiful about having a sick child or the fears that go along with that. This is more about me breaking. The parent of that sick child. The Mama. Throughout the past two weeks, yes, today marks two weeks of being hospitalized, I have felt my heart break countless times. I'm not talking about my heart the organ that pumps blood, the size of a fist...I'm talking about my heart, the dwelling place for my spirit. Mine is shaped like a Valentine, two perfect humps that come together like a V at the bottom. I kept envisioning my heart suspended in air with pieces falling out, like puzzle pieces, and countless tiny hands would catch the pieces before they hit the ground and crumbled. The tiny hands would re-fit that piece, maybe with some glue (shared tears), and the heart would begin to mend. Now the stitching is evident, even ornate in some areas. But I am mending, my patchwork heart, the dwelling place for my spirit, is mending. He is mending me.

"Be still, and know that I am God." Psalm 46:10