A Better Story

A phantom cry, the indentation where he used to sleep in his bed, my favorite onesie, a random bottle in the dishwasher.  I miss him.  Every day.

Beau is gone.   He had a tragic, lonely, sad story from his very beginning and I wanted to change his ending.  What’s so hard is that I didn’t want to be a part of his story for three and a half months, I wanted to see his life played out all the way through.  I want to see his happy ending, not just play a part in it. 

As it is, we aren’t just a part of his story, he’s a part of ours.  My mistake was thinking that I had anything at all to do with the script.  It turns out that as much as I want to write this book, I’m not the Author.  And the bigger picture, through the pain, will always be that there’s a better story to be told.  We just haven't glimpsed those pages.

“Have the courage to live under strain and pain to be part of a better story.  A larger story.  Don’t wimp out.”  Beth Moore.

As weak as I feel right now, I don’t plan on ever wimping out.   There’s a larger story to be told.  Keep reading…

Impossible

As I was lying in bed last night, my heart was pained and racing.  Panic and sadness were taking over.  My fears had set in and the tears falling over the bridge of my nose onto my pillow were screaming that my faith has not been perfected. 

We’re meeting with Beau’s attorney today.  In the middle of the night, the words I would say to him kept rolling through my mind.  I was making the argument that the best thing for this child is to stay with us.  Forever.  He’s bonded to me, to the girls, to Matt.  We would make sure he would have the very best his whole life long.  Jesus, love, faith, stability, comfort, character, strength.  We’d provide him with a wonderful education.  Matt would teach him to play football.  We’d all teach him to laugh.  And at 2:00 am, I begged God to let us find out today that there really is hope that we’ll get to keep him, in the face of everyone that has said that it’s hopeless, impossible.

I started thinking about that word.  “Impossible.”  It means, “beyond the bounds of possibility.”  I began to wonder if maybe, “impossible” isn’t one of God’s favorite words because it gives Him the opportunity to show His power and might.  As I look over my life and who I once was, my salvation seemed impossible.  Rhyan being able to hear and speak after the doctors told us she was profoundly deaf, seemed impossible.  Keeping our first house after Matt lost his job twice in one year, seemed impossible.  My niece living after arriving three months early, seemed impossible.  Yet, I’m saved, Rhyan hears, we have our house, Lily’s alive.  “Impossible” is meaningless to my God.

This morning, I’m feeling stronger.  My heart isn’t quite so twisted and squeezed.  I’m not crying.  I’m praying that Beau’s attorney says the words I want to hear.  And I’m thanking Him for the privilege of ever knowing Beau at all. 

I love this baby boy like he’s my own.  I’ve known him for a lifetime.  And I’ll follow Christ today, like I have from the beginning.  But, today, I’m not just walking behind Him.  I’m holding onto Him with all I have.

I have set the Lord always before me.  Because He is at my right hand, I will not be shaken. Psalm 16:8

La’akov.