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Lighting up the darkness

I remember the day I lost all control of my life. The life I had worked so hard to carefully plan out and maintain a firm grip of. I remember it vividly slipping through my fingers and crashing to the hard ground beneath me, and I wondered if there would ever be a day I would pull it all back together and regain that control I once had. But I learned recently, the very minute I lost that control was a gift not many are given. Losing that tight grip has allowed be to live more authentically than I ever have before. And even though I struggle with these gifts and important lessons I have received at the cost of my son’s precious life, I know I am supposed to do something bigger with them.


I stood in front of a doctor I had never met while my son lay in a room just down the hall with a nurse. I’ll never forget the look on the doctor’s face, her head would lower off and on as she carefully described to us what the MRI revealed. A complete stranger shattered my world in seconds. What an unfortunate job she had, but also a brief meaningful role in my life that I will never forget no matter how hard I try. She had to be the one to tell me, in so many words, control was lost.


At that time, I despised her. How could I not? She uncovered the worst thing in our lives. She discovered this monster that would wreak havoc on our baby boy and eventually take his sweet soul from this earth. At that moment, she was only the messenger of the most horrible news we had ever received.


I can honestly say, I see her, that evening, and the delivery she had to make, completely different sitting here today. I imagine so many situations in life like this. When the storm just begins, we can view people or situations as the enemy. When, they are just another piece of our puzzle that has a perfect place and connects all the other pieces to make the picture whole.


I know now, that had it not been her delivering that news it would be someone else. Or possibly, we would have waited too long and never got the news that there was a tumor until it was too late to be offered a fight. She was giving us this horrible news, but it was all a part of the puzzle. And honestly, she was really good at what she had to do that night. I couldn’t see it then, but I see now. How she paused as we screamed. She never talked over us. She didn’t pretend to act like she knew what we were feeling. She was VERY good at what she was doing. I see how she’s probably had to do that many times before us and now after. There are no words so describe a job like hers.


Once her delivery was made, our life laid there on the floor like pieces of broken glass. It looked like something that would never be beautiful again. Control was lost, dreams shattered, devastation consumed us.


I won’t say that everything repaired itself quickly for us. In fact, devastation was a big part of our life for the coming years after that night. And it has taken a long while to see how it would all play a role in making us who we are today.


We all want quick fixes when something isn’t exactly how we imagine it should be. If our life isn’t going just as we dreamed our obsession is to fix it. Get what we want and get it fast. Except, it’s not always our lives that need fixing, its US! What an incredibly challenging realization. To think we need to be fixed, changed, or bettered in any way can make us feel like we’re not good enough.We see our standards easily, but in the broken moments, if we look hard enough we can see God’s set of standards. And I see now that night, how he knew I was going to be better. And that moment, that was so life shattering would also be the moment we saw EVERYTHING differently.


How beautiful this view of life is now. I never saw it this way before Hunter was diagnosed. Everything is deeper with more meaning than I ever imagined possible in a life. We are missing a huge piece of ourselves here on earth, but our greatest loss has given us our greatest faith. And we know our life here on this earth is so brief, but eternity is waiting just around the corner. It all goes together in that puzzle I keep talking about. It all has a place, a time, a reason.


I’d rather see that earth-shattering news in the light I see it in today, rather than the darkness I saw it in that evening, 3 years ago.


Maybe your worst time, has a light too.


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