“What is the price of two sparrows–one copper coin? But not a single sparrow can fall to the ground without your Father knowing it.”
A couple days of video-EEG monitoring for Rhema in the hospital. Tethered to this room. I imagine people in white coats sitting in a control room correlating patient behavior with seizure activity in the brain. I imagine them watching – with a bowl of popcorn – the antics in Room 916.
They see Rhema eat a blue marker tip.
They see me eat three cupcakes.
They see Brandon stand in front of the camera, put on his shades, flex, and smolder just for them.
They see us pray.
They see Hope cry because she doesn’t want to leave her sister for even just one night.
Caught on camera is a great view of my rear end (and the three cupcakes that attached themselves to said rear end) as I spend half an hour kicking and fighting with the chair that’s supposed to turn into an extra bed. They see me when I turn and do a few fist pumps when I finally get the darn bed assembled.
They see me kiss Rhema’s cheek about every 15 minutes.
Why should I feel discouraged? Why should the shadows come? Why should my heart feel lonely and long for heaven and home? When Jesus is my portion. A constant friend is He. His eye is on the sparrow and I know He watches me. Yes, his eye is on the sparrow and I know He watches me.
Tethered to this world and to these bodies. When she hums and giggles and screams and jerks and cries and we don’t understand, she is seen. When her sister willingly, joyfully does everything she can to love and help her family, she sheds quiet tears, and she is seen. When her father pours himself out for his family, fights the frustration and then deeply longs just to have a conversation with his 10-year old girl, he is seen. When I do the things that only a mother can do for her developmentally delayed child day after day, year after year… I can’t help my heart – it misses the things she misses, and I am seen.
I heard a message last week from Priscilla Shirer. She said everything I already knew, and yet it was everything I needed to hear again about overcoming the discouragement that had secretly, painfully settled in my soul. She said that it’s no small thing. That the awesome God who makes something out of nothing every moment, who lays the foundations of earths and causes the morning stars to sing and launches lightening and carves canyons and paints the skies, sees me. Sees her. Sees you.
I realized this in a personal way that day. Rhema had not slept through the night in weeks, constant shrieking for days. I felt like breaking, “sleep-depraved” as my mother would say. At the end of the seminar, Priscilla prayed and in one line of the prayer she said something like ‘Lord, please give sleep to the sleepless.’ And a couple tears leaked from my eyes (because I was indeed sleep depraved and) I knew in my gut that in a world, in a country, in a state, in a mountain town, in a lecture hall full of people, my God had come to me and seen me.
She gave this name to the LORD who spoke to her: “You are the God who sees me,” for she said, “I have now seen the One who sees me.” ~Genesis 16:13