Moving My Face

This morning, all foggy and damp outside, we drove to church, my girl and I.  The thought drifted into my head unannounced; "Anything could happen today.  Live ready for the dime to turn and still be fixed steady on Who holds the dime."  I wondered where the thought came from and if it meant something; some kind of premonition.  I wagered more likely it was in light of all those I've met, and whose stories I've heard that have changed my walk profoundly in the past several months.  The "anything" doesn't hit me as fear so  much as perspective of the temporary.  To hold loosely and live as if you're gathering up the hung laundry before a storm.  Live it.  Now!

Sitting in church today, hearing about a young high school boy, strapping and athletic, who just last week went from playing soccer to living with a pacemaker.  I put my car in park right before I drove off to home and jumped out to hug a friend whose husband was here on this earth two weeks ago and suddenly....just wasn't.  And I looked her in the eye and didn't even try to say anything other than I loved her.  

We came home and curled up cozy to enjoy an afternoon of nothing to do in preparation for our first full week of school tomorrow.  The first three days the week before hinted that we were not quite used to the pace and it would take some time before we'd not want to go to sleep at 4 p.m.  So, we piled ourselves up with books and computers and settled in when it happened.  My girl yawned.  Just yawned.  And then we grabbed our keys and drove to the ER because once her mouth had opened, it would not shut again.  And I was weirded completely out, the question marks flying through my brain.  What if?  What now?  What the heck??

It all turned out fine.  She's at home now, jaw back where God intended it to be, tucked in her room reading.  And I sit on my porch pondering that thought I'd had when dawn broke today.  What does the day hold, I wonder?  It turns out it held reminders that it's all fragile; all a gift.  Sometimes it turns out alright.  Sometimes it doesn't feel alright at all.  Sometimes it's as simple as moving your face wrong.  Sometimes your heart turns on itself and you can't play sports anymore for the rest of your life.

We're thankful, the girl and I, as I listen to the evening humming of summer, sipping my iced tea.  My mind calls up the image of a woman standing outside the ER door as we left.  She'd been there when we first arrived; that edgy, anxious look people in hospital waiting rooms have, as if they're hoping you can't find them if it's bad news.  I'm whispering comfort for her tonight.