Wednesday, November 20, 2013

having your dreams handed back to you

Two months ago I was so disappointed.
There was this event I really wanted to attend.  I even set a reminder on my calendar to buy tickets the day they went on sale.  I never do that.  But this event seemed important for me.

Then...something super weird happened.  The day I was expecting to receive an email about how to purchase advance tickets one of my email accounts stopped syncing up to my phone.  I was out all day and didn't realize what had happened until I got home and got on-line and found out the tickets were all gone.
Sold out.

I was so disappointed, 
but then...

I remembered 
whenever something super weird happens there is usually a reason.
So I took a deep breath, decided to be a big girl and let it go.

I've learned that 
  sometimes God has to interrupt my plans to make room for His plans...they're always so much bigger.

One month after being disappointed by a missed opportunity I was completely devastated by Lucy's diagnosis.

On October 23 we received the news that set our lives into a tailspin.  Immediately my protective mother instincts kicked in.  I began eliminating every responsibility or engagement that would interfere with me focusing 100% on helping my daughter...on making sure our family survived this blow.

If that ticket had been in my possession I would have sent it right back from whence it came because I was not going to let anything get in the way of this mama on a mission for her baby.
When something rocks your world it's hard to imagine you will ever have the capacity to do anything else for like...forever.  You can't imagine when you will actually be able to reintroduce yourself to the world.  You can't even be sure that all the pieces of the life you had before will fit into this new reality.

But I didn't have the ticket...
so I couldn't do anything stupid with it.

This Saturday, November 23, will mark exactly one month since we began living with Type 1 Diabetes.  
One month since we checked into the Children's Hospital and began learning about insulin injections and pancreatic islets.  
One month since my heart and mind shifted their focus entirely onto that one thing.
Once month since I quietly cried myself to sleep in that tiny hospital bed snuggled tight against my girl.

On this one month anniversary of Lucy's diagnosis I might cry myself to sleep again.  
This time the tears will be filled with gladness instead of mourning.

This Saturday I will join a small group of dreamers, writers, singers, grace-givers, ordinary people with hearts for uncovering extraordinary life.  
This Saturday I will be At The Barn with Emily.

She emailed on Tuesday to say she had a ticket for me.  At the last minute one had come available.  I could almost see her hand extended towards me with a piece of paper that said 'admit one'.  
It had been held for me.  
It had been reserved until the last minute when I would barely be ready to say 'yes'.  
It was placed in my hand just as I was coming up for air.


Sometimes the trials we face seem to steal our very own breath from our lungs and we stay alive only because we are being given mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.  We wonder if we will ever be able to breathe our own breath...our own life...again.

One month ago I was ready to release every dream I ever had for my own life to preserve the dreams I have for my daughter.

But God said 'no'.  He didn't require that sacrifice.

All the ways I create art with words and thoughts and connections and stories and people...
He could have taken them.  He could have left me without an ounce of time or energy left for any of it.

Until this week I always wondered if my dreams were His I think I know.

Maybe this really is a calling after all.  
Maybe I really can stop feeling guilty for the time spent with my fingers flipping pages or tapping keys.  

If my art can exist alongside this new life that requires more of me than I believed I possessed, than certainly it must be ordained by Him...I can't find another explanation.

And so I'm going to the barn.
I will slip on my boots and take a deep breath and begin to understand how this new life that seems so fragile is strong enough to hold all these dreams He's set in my heart.