There in that sterile hospital room, amidst quick flashes of lightning from a nearby window, I lay snuggling my sweet baby girl. My daughter, MaryGrace, has epilepsy; so, she was undergoing a sleep study to be sure she was not having seizures in her sleep, which could result in intellectual damage (“intellectual damage”… 2 words no mother wants to see strung together in regard to their child.)
Queen Elsa was in the background letting it go for the umpteenth time that day and my thoughts drifted off. Naturally, they drifted to the faces of my other 3 kids. In a way I was simply taking roll call as I do all day, every day. But this time I realized all 3 of my boys were with with different people in different places. Essentially, they’d been farmed out so I could be with MaryGrace and my husband could bring me dinner on his way home from work.
An overwhelming sense of gratitude enveloped me. I pictured each boy and the neighborhood family they were with. I pictured our babysitter who had cared for them earlier that day. I pictured my mother-in-law, who bought a last-minute plane ticket to get home to help after her previous flight had been cancelled.
The boys were being loved like crazy. Actually, we were all being loved like crazy.
As I lay there, basking in deep appreciation for all the people God has put in my life, something shifted. My stomach dropped and all the thankfulness evaporated.
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