January 22, 2013


God has really been going out of his way to "test my faith". Not necessarily in a bad way. In the loving way a father who adores you would gently prod. To say, "trust me". And then when I say, "I do". He says, "let's see". I proclaim that I trust him, I am adamant  in my unwavering faith in his sovereignty and his plan. I wear a gracelet with Hebrews 11:6 on it (And without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him.) as a reminder to pray for my son and as a boast in my faith in HIM. But an incident this weekend reminded me of what my faith really looks like sometimes.

I got to spend the weekend at my parent's house scrapbooking with my mom. (because I have the coolest husband ever, who sends me away every 3 months or so while he takes on all the responsibilities at home). I get a text on Saturday with this cute little picture of Hannah, my 2 year old holding an ice pack to her head. Then I get the next picture. A front shot with a big lump on her tiny head. And then... a close up of the entire right side of her face, red scratched and badly bruised.

Hannah had fallen down some stairs face first.

Now with 4 kids and 7 years under our belts (and let's face it one of those kids is Elijah) we have survived many tumbles, scrapes, and gashes. But I was there for every one of the major ones. Now let me just say, when our kids have hurt themselves I always defer to my husband for the decision making as he is truly the brains of this operation. I have been known to make a few obsessive phone calls to him in the past because a child was injured and I had lost my wits. He says "let's go to the ER." I start loading up the car. "He says I think they are fine". I take a deep breath and start playing nurse at home. I have faith in my husband's wisdom... Or so it would seem. In the past I was always there to keep a close eye on things. I could weigh in my assessment of the situation, analyze what my husband thought we should do and then say okay, sounds good to me. I still felt somewhat in control.

Jarrod will tell you there were many texts and a few phone calls after Hannah took this particular spill that went something like this:

Me: "Does she need to go to the ER just to make sure she does not have a concussion?"

Jarrod: "I really don't think so. I will keep an eye on her."

Me: (because I was not satisfied with that answer and he clearly was not thinking through all the  possibilities) "Did she fall hard enough to break any bones in her cheek?"

Jarrod: "No"

Me: "Check her eyes. Are they dilated, or undilated or whichever one they are not supposed to be?"

Jarrod: "Her eyes look fine".

That did not stop a very similar line of questioning a few minutes later, this time over the phone.  Followed by reminders throughout the evening to wake her up to make sure there was really no concussion.

Two days later I am back home. I have given Hannah a hug, kissed every one of her scrapes and seen first hand that her eyes truly are undilated... I think. I am confident Jarrod got it right. I am able to laugh at myself and then I am able to reflect on what my faith in God really looks like. It is all well and good to say, "Whatever you think God, I trust your judgement." It is honorable even to think, "I am done trying to figure this one out. You take over LORD". But how often am I really doing that and then removing myself from the picture. I am still here. I can still weigh in, analyze and hold on to that control and then boast. "I have faith. God's really leading this one." Is he? Or is it just that I haven't truly "taken a break" and let him be in charge? I have got to learn to have OUT OF CONTROL FAITH. Both in my husband and in my GOD.

In case you are wondering Hannah is healing up quite nice

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