|(one of my favorite pictures of Bugaboo ever)|
Instead I am listening to James Taylor. On my three hour drive home today I heard one of his songs, and one just wasn't enough. He sings, and I am transported to a short road trip to Peoria a decade ago with my best friend where we listened to his greatest hits cd over and over. Maybe that is why hearing You've Got a Friend on the radio gave me as much hope and comfort today as singing 'Tis So Sweet To Trust In Jesus three times in a row.
My music choices are all over the place today, much like my thoughts.
As much as I have hated the "It's probably a preemie thing," response we have been given for over a year, now that I heard the opposite today, a part of me wants to rewind. I want the naive "He will outgrow all of this and catch up in time" answer back. Instead I find myself standing on the shore of an ocean of unknown answers and even unknown questions. I stand here, wonder and wait. Hurry up and wait. Hurry up and wait. Hurry up and wait is the rhythm of this tide.
My urgent prayers for healing seem hollow. Not pointless, but selfish somehow. It feels as if all the prayers for healing meant that who my son is without healing isn't enough. And that thought shatters me.
How do I pray for him now? Is it even appropriate any more to pray for healing? Because it feels slimy tonight. What do I pray? I'm unsure.
So I find myself praying for me. For strength and wisdom. For grace and a sense of humor. For
divine appointments. For things I don't even know to ask for or hope for. And for now I keep singing the hymns I know by heart. I sing of God's faithfulness mixed right in with a medley of James Taylor's greatest hits.
linking up with Emily's imperfect prose community again this week