20 weeks
It’s been 20 weeks since the wreck that almost killed
us. 20 weeks of pain intermixed with
beauty. Challenges and triumphs. Physical and emotional work. Terror and facing fears. But this week the pain and terror and
challenges were not invited to our party.
This was a week of overcoming, joy, laughing, loving and facing giants. We’ve been with our dear friends and parents
in Sand Point, Idaho at Lake Pend Orielle (pronounced Poderay). 6 adults and 12 beautiful children converged
upon a wonderful lake house with its own dock.
Days were spent at the city beach and park, on the boat or at the house
swimming off the dock. There may have
been some tears (as we are human and let’s face it, 12 children in one place
are bound to have at least a few little hearts on edge at times). But for the most part there was laughter and
giggling amidst the splashing of water and turns down the slide at the
playground.
This week I witnessed pure beauty. First, we are alive to have enjoyed the
trip. We are a family that is intact,
all 8 of us with grandma and grandpa in tow.
I am quite certain that when we began planning this trip in December
last year, God was fully smiling knowing how much we were going to appreciate
this time together; and how much we were going to need it. The scenery around this area is supposedly
breath taking. But we really didn’t see
it due to the dense smoke from the fires in Canada, Montana and
Washington. Maybe in another season in
life this would have been disappointing.
But what we could see was still beautiful, and quite honestly just being
here together was more than enough. We
didn’t need the view. We are just
grateful to have all our eyes intact in order to see the people who were right
in front of us; sharing this time with us.
Secondly, we watched person after person in our crew do
things that were WAY outside their comfort zones, and way into the zone of
their fears. Kiddos who have never dived
face first into water dove again and again off a dock with sheer glee spread
across their faces. Last summer a child
that wouldn’t even jump willingly into the lake jumped right over and swam
around after proclaiming, “This is me facing my lake fears!” Which gave way into giggles at the joy of
cooling off in water. 5 children who
have never attempted water skiing bravely jumped into the water, put skis on,
and waited as the boat drove away from them, then tried to pull them up out of
the water. When I was 7 being away from
the boat terrified me, and these children tried with not a tiny bit of
crying. Courage is not the lack of
fears. It is walking forward in spite of
them, straight into the heart of the fear.
2 of those 5 had success above the water, but all of them conquered the
biggest challenge of all; getting out of the boat.
My dad, at 61, with Parkinson’s and no where near as agile
as he once was got up on a slalom ski.
He may not have had a 45 minute ski like he did when I was young, but he
did ski, and smiled the whole way. My
mom, with autoimmune arthritis got out of the boat and tried to ski at 62, and
I know a lot of people who are ready to throw in the towel when they deal with
the pain she has daily. 20 weeks ago as
I felt my back and pelvis break I didn’t think that I would ever be close to
functional again. But when I was in the
water with my kids, helping them try to learn to ski I wanted to see if I could
get up on skis again, and feel the joy that I had a child. I knew once I had the skis on that I was
going to be strong enough and that knowledge alone felt like victory. I cried tears of joy, as I exclaimed, “thank
you, Jesus!” while being pulled past the most beautiful shoreline I’ve ever
seen. When I let go of the ropes it
wasn’t because I couldn’t have gone longer, but because I had proved to myself
that I could, and I felt like it was enough.
I didn’t die on that road, in that car.
I lived, and I am not missing out on life from here on out.
Thirdly, we watched 12 beautifully complex and tender
hearted children play joyfully with each other for 5 days. They come from all over the world, knit
together into their families as God designed.
No orphans, sons and daughters.
Loved and belonging. Some home
grown, others brought home, but each one essential to the fabric of their
families. Spending time with people that
you will dearly miss in their absence is a gift. It feels as if we have always known each
other, but our lives didn’t intersect until 7 years ago. Our friendship is evidence of God’s
abundance. We didn’t seek each other out. We met while we were adopting two of our
children, walking towards God’s plan in our lives and He brought us
together. Spending this week together
was simply put; beautiful.
I feel stronger as we head home than I did last week as we
prepared to leave for this trip. And our
road to recovery isn’t over. This week I
start back full time to work. I am
ready, but I am also going to miss the time that I have been given with our
family these last 5 months. Naomi is
scheduled for surgery in September, and if God sees fit to heal her bones
between now and then it will be cancelled, but if not; if her recovery
necessitates this procedure then we are facing a major procedure and months of
PT to help her heal afterwards. We trust
that God will be present with us no matter what. I will see the orthopedist this week to try
and get to the bottom of whatever injury my left shoulder sustained in the
wreck. My pain there has worsened
gradually, and the ache is a constant reminder of our trauma. Kit has about 1.5 months left on blood
thinners before we can re- 
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