Bifocals and Brain Scans

It is Thursday night.

How those Monday afternoon appointments 

have shaped my outlook this week...

With news of our almost 2 year old needing bifocals.

With news of our 4 1/2 year old needing a brain scan.

What?!

Bifocals- makes me kinda smile. Unexpected!

Brain scan- makes my heart hurt. Oh, how unexpected.

And so we sit and wait.

What do we need to prepare for: 

Nothing! 

(or)

 Bam!

In these days of desperate waiting,

I long for *something* to feel tangible. To keep me steady.

But, what?

What about waiting allows for anything to grab hold of?

Now-numerous phone conversations with the hospital and clinic reassure me; 
their words allow me to scratch down notes and give me a sheet of paper to hold, read, refer to. Stare at. 
Touch.

Yesterday turned into compulsive 
sorting, cleaning, organizing, prettying-up home. 
Touch.

We are an introspective couple: Thinking, thinking. Always thinking.
At the same time as the thinking, there can/should/could be 
praying, doing. 
Seeing results.

I look at our preschooler's sweet head, face, eyes.

And I just quietly stroke his softest hair.

I want to *see* into my little boy's head. 
What all is secretly transpiring between 
those optic nerves and that precious brain?
I wish for insight into this mystery we are facing.

Would I find anything alarming? 

The dreaded t-word?

Would it all reveal to be normal and dull and 
not-in-the-least-bit interesting?
What a contrast.

If I could just see.
Right Now.
Just a glimpse, a clue?

If I could Just. See.

But, no.

This is not the way of reality, or the way of Trust.

Impatience. Longing. Urgency. Turmoil.

Not much peace or loveliness in those words.

What can be lovely in times like these, when we can't see?

Reminders.

Songs. 

(Oh, cherished Spotify playlist.)

"Emmanuel."

"Hallelujah."

"Feels Like Home."

"Oceans."

Over and over and over.

Tear-inducing, lump-in-the-throat beauty in these dear songs.

My tiny glass Jar of Joy and Jar of Tears.

(Reminders)

Almond candle from my mom.

Peacefully crackling.

My 3 acorns: my 3 boys' lives, in-the-process yet.

(Reminders)

Darling son's precious "Teddy" companion.

And the "Franklin Goes to the Hospital" book 

that has comforted our boys already in years' past.

Once again, is relevant. 

Once again, Franklin's sweet face and words brings tears to this momma's eyes.

Comfort, beloved Teddy and Franklin.

(Reminders)

Phone conversation this afternoon with a best friend, 

a long-known kindred spirit.

Her tears were a balm and comforted like a hug, across those miles.

And unexpected news of her road-tripping up this weekend...

Breathe deep and smile.

Supported. Loved.

(Reminders)

In these coming days?

We continue on. 

Daily life.

Daily needs.

Daily memories made.

I may catch myself staring into space more often this week, 

but life is moving forward, one bit at a time. 

Momma and Daddy are still needed.

We love you boys so.

Grateful for support and love and God's promises.

Blessings,

Elizabeth