I slept a little and it was so much.
I could feel all of my bones when I laid down.
We had been looking forward to the baby being born because of that surreal quiet of the first few days after that slip away spent so happy and serene. Everything was set up. Super rock star team taking on the youth program more and more. All of our duties minimalized at the drop of a hat and ding of a text. Our other kids with shelter available. We were ready.
But this morning does not offer any peace.
Leo has hard day number two. Another puncture of his lumbar. Chemo that requires a nearby crash cart the first time around, just in case he’s allergic.
The day offers me no peace. But I don’t seek peace from days.
I seek and receive peace from the one who began peace, who created it, who fought for it, who bled and died for it. I seek and receive peace from the one with whom I am no longer at war. I seek and receive peace from the one who created, can sleep through, and with a word can calm the storm. Storms outside and in…
I have peace surrounded by the fury and terror that seeks to supplant hope and joy. I will need that entire peace today so we can walk through the fire of today. We will laugh together. We will eat together. I will hold him while he’s scared, the same way I’m being held while I’m scared.
We will hope.
My day, bookended by my sons, is a day surrounded by the rich blessings of a full quiver and the unequaled honor and sacred duty of fatherhood. One fights for his life. The other rests after his fight to see the light.
And for all of these days and all of these fights and for all of these moments I thank God. He is with me, and it is well.