Meanwhile
we groan, longing to be clothed instead with our heavenly dwelling.
2
Corinthians 5:2
Though there
have been brief stretches of normal, my baby’s skin has been invaded by angry,
hot hives since the Fourth of July. We have no idea why. There have been tests
run, her diet changed, specialists seen, and medications administered. Still there
are no real answers. Some days it feels never ending and overwhelming and
discouraging. Other days I’m thankful
for beautifully clear baby skin.
During her
breakouts, I’ve had to make room for looks from strangers. The other day a
woman came right up to me, and with a polite smile asked, “What’s wrong with
your baby?” Her honesty was refreshing and her noticing was kind. It did the
opposite of offend me.
Anna Joy’s
body reveals evidence of virus or allergy or something else hidden. Her hives
are indicators of the unseen. Not everyone has physical signs that give away
what's going on underneath the surface. Silent
suffering and invisible pain surround us, in spite of the Christmas season.
I overheard
a woman’s conversation this week on the baby aisle at the grocery store. As I
loaded my cart with Gerber green beans and peaches, I was abruptly confronted
with a string of ill-tempered words shouted into a cell phone. Poison laced all
throughout. I have no clue who she was speaking to, but her volume increased
recklessly, and I wondered if she was even aware I was standing there with my
baby listening to her hostility that conveyed deep, deep hurt. She ended the
conversation, then stormed off. I wanted to tell her I noticed. I wanted to
tell her it would all be ok.
We are all
walking around with hurt and pain and we are longing for someone to notice. We
may smile and say we’re fine, but every day we are inundated with reminders that
things are not as they should be. We’re all sick, whether we show symptoms or
not.
We’re infected with a homesickness that can’t
be cured this side of heaven.
Approaching random strangers to ask what’s wrong is probably not the most effective way, but we can remember that
hurt is usually concealed. We can allow that recognition to change our
perspective and alter our reactions. We can be someone who notices. We can offer Hope.
This is the
most magical and exciting time of year for our little ones, but for many of us
it is the most stressful and taxing season of all. It doesn’t have to be. Jesus says, Come. Come all who are weary. He invites
the ones who suffer silently. He can heal invisible pain, because He sees. Jesus
notices. He knows every scar and every gaping wound still throbbing. He is
close enough to catch the tears that fall. He hears the groaning of the whole
earth, the longing we can’t explain. Jesus is our Hope, our only remedy.
May we have
eyes to see through the exterior into the heart matters that matter most. May
we be a people who offer Jesus rather than opinions and advice. May we remember
that there are varying degrees of brokenness, but none are immune. May
this season of togetherness remind us of the deeper work of kingdom art that is
underway.
Jesus loves you,
Kelly
I hesitate
to even share this here because I know we’re among the lucky ones. There are children who have diagnoses that make us ache inside, moms who day in and day
out care for precious ones whose chances of improving are slim. Parts of the
world lack basic medical care readily available in my town. But this space has
always been about sharing my struggles, joys, and lessons God is teaching me.
This place has become where Jesus meets my everyday mess. This is where the
gospel changes me rather than my circumstances. And God speaks even through
circumstances I want Him to change.
