Something terrible had happened and I sat in pain all day hoping the evidence of the terrible thing would go away without me dealing with it.  But it did not, so I sent out a few texts for prayer.  And then You Know Who responded asking if I needed to go to the ER.  Well, yes, probably so.  And then she asked if I needed a ride.  And then she showed up at my door. 

She showed up after a work out, somehow made more adorable by her gym attire and ponytail, smiling as always and ready to help.  Happy to be smiled upon, grateful for the ride and hunched over in pain, I grabbed my stuff and hobbled to the car.  “Just drop me off please.  Please don’t spend your Friday night here.  I’m a big girl.  I’ll call you if I need a ride home.”  But she came in anyway.  She sat with me for four hours on a Friday night in the ER.  Did I mention she was not my mom?  Did I mention she was not related to me at all?  No?  Yeah, she doesn’t really have a title I guess.  She is just… I don’t know… something.  She is something. 

That night she sat with me in the hospital.  She wrapped me in a blanket when I was cold.  She looked me in the eyes and spoke softly when I was scared.  She rubbed my back while I sobbed.  She shared some of her story.  We took turns talking and listening to stories big and small.  And we laughed and we cried.  We sat in silence honoring and pondering.  We shared moments and we shared our hearts.  And healing happened. 

And because two in the morning is a lousy time to drive somebody home after an ER stay, she took me to her home.  I apologized to her husband who was sweetly, patiently waiting up.  She said “You must be starving.” And we stood in her kitchen devouring apple slices and almond butter before slipping off to bed.  And healing happened. 

I slept soundly under a flowered quilt, and woke to sun shining on my face and her asking me to come in to their room where they were quietly sitting in the most picture perfect chairs bathed in morning light and having devotional.  Sleepy and confused, I stood at their door certain that she did not actually mean for me to enter their room.  (Did I mention we weren’t even related?  Did I mention I had almost no concept of warm, loving parental figures?)  And then… and then she said “Hop up in bed, get under the covers.”  Goodness.  Never, ever, ever have sweeter words been said to me and they couldn’t have been said on a harder morning.   And healing happened. 
As I sat curled up and in awe, and wondering whether I might be dreaming that these wonderful people were actually sitting across from me pleasantly discussing the Bible, healing happened.  As she scrambled my eggs and buttered my toast and their golden retriever happily licked my feet, healing happened.  With each hot sip of coffee at their table, healing happened. 

Before my ER prescriptions were ever filled, healing happened.  Because Mother and Father had been two of my least favorite words, because I had no idea what they were supposed to be.  And then, oh did I understand, because I got to experience what they were supposed to be.  Because I was cared for and taken care of like never ever before.  Because I was shown the warmth of a mother’s smile on one of my hardest days, (did I mention I have had a lot of hard days?) Healing happened. 

I went home that day bathed in the Love.  I hope never to forget any detail- the tartness of the apple we shared… the little toothbrush I was given… the pale blue color of the sunlit wall in my room… the enormity of the bed I climbed into that morning, it dwarfed me appropriately… the softness of the pillow I held while they talked… the ridiculous amount of butter she spread on my toast… the richness of the coffee, the weight of the cup… the saturation of every moment with sweetness and Light and color… 

If you are twenty eight years old and only just experiencing the wonder of being taken care of, it is kind of a big deal.  I am pretty sure it was all God’s idea.  I am pretty sure Jesus was there the whole time.  I am pretty sure it was not a dream.  Other people may have been more impacted by skipping rocks in a stream or rocking in chairs on a porch.  But my heart has longed, for oh let’s say forever, to be taken care of that way, to be called into a giant bed on a sleepy Saturday morning.  And it finally was.  And healing happened.     

My life is changed.  Thank you is much, much too small an offering. 

I am humbled and grateful, deep wounds are healed. 
God is great. 
Jesus loves me this I know.
Amazing Grace how sweet the sun that rises on brand new days and brings healing through people that love and redemption in every single detail.  So blessed.  So, so blessed. 


5 Responses to “Healing”

  1. beautifully written. love you.

  2. I have no words, as the depth of what you wrote here is still invading my heart and soul as I type. I just wanted you to know that these words of yours hold more weight than you may know …


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