In everything we are and could have been (there is a reason)
I'm not exagerating when I say that I am shocked and startled by my legacy. It will hit me at odd moments, from odd angles. When I say legacy, I don't mean one of human heritage and bloodline. Well, I do mean of blood, but I'll get to that later. Let me explain:
I came close to dying twice before I was born and once immediately after. When my mother was pregnant with me, she was in a terrible car crash. One of her tires blew out when she was going down hill. The small car spun and swerved out of control, across the road and through a fence. It was completely totaled. My mom was rushed to the hospital, and amazingly, both she and I were fine. A month before her due date, but mom was sitting in her car as my dad grabbed a couple of things from a convenience store. A car backed up quickly without looking and banged straight into my parent's car. My mom was shaken, but seemed fine. However a couple of hours later she went into early labor and I was born four weeks premature. Before I was taken home from the hospital, a nurse told my mom that premee babies sometimes get jaundice, but that it wasn't a big deal.
"If she turns a little yellow, don't freak out, she'll be fine, really," the nurse told my mom. So my parents took me home. I was their first child, and as new parents, of course they both wanted to do everything right and were nervous about it. When my skin began to turn slightly yellow, my mom repeated the nurse's words to herself. When I turned even more yellow, she told herself to be calm, the nurse had said this would happen but that it wasn't a big deal, don't freak out. Finally I turned so yellow that my mom allowed her panic to take over and she took me back to the hospital. She wasn't the only one who panicked. My conditional was quickly given the labels of severe and critical, and premee baby me was rushed via starflight to a larger, more well-equipped hospital. The same nurse who had impressed upon my mom to not worry, turned to my parents and scolded them harshly.
"I can't believe you'd let this happen, why didn't you bring her in sooner? She's probably going to have brain damage now because of this. She may loose some of her hearing or vision because you let this go so long," she berated my grief-stricken parents. As a final stab as the nurse walked away, she said, "I have to go. My daughter is in a school play," leaving my parents to wonder if their own daughter would ever be able to be in a school play of her own, or if I had been damaged by the jaundice in a way that would stop me from having the kind of good and normal life they had hoped for.
Contrary to the nurse's predictions, but completely in line with my parent's prayers, I made a full recovery. Ever since I was a little girl I've known those stories; about the two car crashes and the jaundice scare. I loved to hear my mom tell those stories because when I'd hear them I'd feel something that I wasn't able to identify until I was older, yet I knew that it was part of my identity, my legacy, and I was proud of it. I was alive and well, and that wasn't a small thing. Nor was it a thing of chance. What I know now is this: everyone on this earth has a purpose given to us from God, and that God works all things out for His good. A time to be born and a time to die (Ecclesiastes 3:2a). Also a time to be well and a time to be ill. A time for prayers to be answered with yes, and a time for prayers to be answered with no. Yet never is there a time when God does not answer prayers in some way.
The answer to my parent's prayers was Yes. Yes, she will live. Yes, she will be well and whole. Yes, I will provide for you in all times, even when those times come very close to the edge; just have faith. I am thankful to God that he let me live, and that he let me not have any permant damage from the illness. Is it something I think about and thank Him for every day? No, but I should. I always should.
It's even more than that though, that fills me with shock and amazement. I've done social work long enough that I have seen and heard some horrible things. Children abused by their parents since they were babies. Conditions of extreme poverty, heavy substance abuse, crack babies, and parents that force their children to lie and do other immoral things because they claim it is for their collective good. I've seen this in the city where I work, but I've seen it abroad too. On mission trips in other countries, I've seen unparalled poverty and lack of education. In the midst of it, I've seen some of the most beautiful and authentic examples of faith as well, faith that makes me feel like a weak and fainting fool in shameful comparison to all I have and take for granted without daily falling on my knees in thanks and praise. Because my legacy is this: I am alive, I am well and whole, I have parents who love me and taught me about Christ, a church who nourishes me, and a country where I can freely worship God in my home or in the street. I have never been abused. I have never been without food, clothes, or shelter. I have been educated, and have the resouces to continue learning whenever I want. I have never been without a job, and I even have two jobs that I feel good about being a part of, that I enjoy and am thankful for. I have friends and family who support me, love me, share my faith, pray for me and with me. I could go on and on, even about the little things like being able to sing and draw or having people's trust. It's a tapestry of things that are overwhelmingly, unbelievably amazing. When I think about this, one word escapes my startled lips: "Why?" Why me? Why have I been so richly blessed, when others have lives of suffering? Of course my life is not "perfect", but only by the world's eyes. No, my parents could never afford to send me to college or buy me a car, but they taught me how to be wise with my finances, and they are always willing to be a part of each choice I make. No, I have no boyfriend, no husband, no children, as most of my friends do by now, but I trust that God has a plan in all things. Yes, I have two siblings in heaven who died before they were born. Yes, I've lost three grandparents. Yes, I've lied, cursed, selfishly put myself first and followed my own agenda above all else, struggled with a season of despair, harshly hurt those I love and let my pride block me from God's will. All of this - what I've done and do and the many struggles in life I could have had, juxtaposed against the life I am so richly and undeservedly blessed with - breaks my heart with astonished thanksgiving.
That is my legacy. This life that I don't deserve. The grace that God has poured out on each of us; His blood, freely spilt so that it washes us in a flood of mercy. When I stop and realize that, how can I not yearn until I ache to follow His purpose for me, seeking it out as I seek Him, with all my will? For His perfect will works in and through each of us. Even when a family member dies. Even when the future doesn't turn out as we expect. Even when the one we love walks away. Even when we aren't rich, or very pretty, or don't have grass as green as our neighbor's. God has a purpose in everything. He let me live, and so much more, and I can only believe that He has a purpose in that. I can only thank, worship, and praise Him for that. For everything.
Even in the heartache, He is there. I'm learning to find Him there; in the joy and the sorrow and the mundane, so that this life He has bestowed on me will have a singular, perfect purpose: His.
I came close to dying twice before I was born and once immediately after. When my mother was pregnant with me, she was in a terrible car crash. One of her tires blew out when she was going down hill. The small car spun and swerved out of control, across the road and through a fence. It was completely totaled. My mom was rushed to the hospital, and amazingly, both she and I were fine. A month before her due date, but mom was sitting in her car as my dad grabbed a couple of things from a convenience store. A car backed up quickly without looking and banged straight into my parent's car. My mom was shaken, but seemed fine. However a couple of hours later she went into early labor and I was born four weeks premature. Before I was taken home from the hospital, a nurse told my mom that premee babies sometimes get jaundice, but that it wasn't a big deal.
"If she turns a little yellow, don't freak out, she'll be fine, really," the nurse told my mom. So my parents took me home. I was their first child, and as new parents, of course they both wanted to do everything right and were nervous about it. When my skin began to turn slightly yellow, my mom repeated the nurse's words to herself. When I turned even more yellow, she told herself to be calm, the nurse had said this would happen but that it wasn't a big deal, don't freak out. Finally I turned so yellow that my mom allowed her panic to take over and she took me back to the hospital. She wasn't the only one who panicked. My conditional was quickly given the labels of severe and critical, and premee baby me was rushed via starflight to a larger, more well-equipped hospital. The same nurse who had impressed upon my mom to not worry, turned to my parents and scolded them harshly.
"I can't believe you'd let this happen, why didn't you bring her in sooner? She's probably going to have brain damage now because of this. She may loose some of her hearing or vision because you let this go so long," she berated my grief-stricken parents. As a final stab as the nurse walked away, she said, "I have to go. My daughter is in a school play," leaving my parents to wonder if their own daughter would ever be able to be in a school play of her own, or if I had been damaged by the jaundice in a way that would stop me from having the kind of good and normal life they had hoped for.
Contrary to the nurse's predictions, but completely in line with my parent's prayers, I made a full recovery. Ever since I was a little girl I've known those stories; about the two car crashes and the jaundice scare. I loved to hear my mom tell those stories because when I'd hear them I'd feel something that I wasn't able to identify until I was older, yet I knew that it was part of my identity, my legacy, and I was proud of it. I was alive and well, and that wasn't a small thing. Nor was it a thing of chance. What I know now is this: everyone on this earth has a purpose given to us from God, and that God works all things out for His good. A time to be born and a time to die (Ecclesiastes 3:2a). Also a time to be well and a time to be ill. A time for prayers to be answered with yes, and a time for prayers to be answered with no. Yet never is there a time when God does not answer prayers in some way.
The answer to my parent's prayers was Yes. Yes, she will live. Yes, she will be well and whole. Yes, I will provide for you in all times, even when those times come very close to the edge; just have faith. I am thankful to God that he let me live, and that he let me not have any permant damage from the illness. Is it something I think about and thank Him for every day? No, but I should. I always should.
It's even more than that though, that fills me with shock and amazement. I've done social work long enough that I have seen and heard some horrible things. Children abused by their parents since they were babies. Conditions of extreme poverty, heavy substance abuse, crack babies, and parents that force their children to lie and do other immoral things because they claim it is for their collective good. I've seen this in the city where I work, but I've seen it abroad too. On mission trips in other countries, I've seen unparalled poverty and lack of education. In the midst of it, I've seen some of the most beautiful and authentic examples of faith as well, faith that makes me feel like a weak and fainting fool in shameful comparison to all I have and take for granted without daily falling on my knees in thanks and praise. Because my legacy is this: I am alive, I am well and whole, I have parents who love me and taught me about Christ, a church who nourishes me, and a country where I can freely worship God in my home or in the street. I have never been abused. I have never been without food, clothes, or shelter. I have been educated, and have the resouces to continue learning whenever I want. I have never been without a job, and I even have two jobs that I feel good about being a part of, that I enjoy and am thankful for. I have friends and family who support me, love me, share my faith, pray for me and with me. I could go on and on, even about the little things like being able to sing and draw or having people's trust. It's a tapestry of things that are overwhelmingly, unbelievably amazing. When I think about this, one word escapes my startled lips: "Why?" Why me? Why have I been so richly blessed, when others have lives of suffering? Of course my life is not "perfect", but only by the world's eyes. No, my parents could never afford to send me to college or buy me a car, but they taught me how to be wise with my finances, and they are always willing to be a part of each choice I make. No, I have no boyfriend, no husband, no children, as most of my friends do by now, but I trust that God has a plan in all things. Yes, I have two siblings in heaven who died before they were born. Yes, I've lost three grandparents. Yes, I've lied, cursed, selfishly put myself first and followed my own agenda above all else, struggled with a season of despair, harshly hurt those I love and let my pride block me from God's will. All of this - what I've done and do and the many struggles in life I could have had, juxtaposed against the life I am so richly and undeservedly blessed with - breaks my heart with astonished thanksgiving.
That is my legacy. This life that I don't deserve. The grace that God has poured out on each of us; His blood, freely spilt so that it washes us in a flood of mercy. When I stop and realize that, how can I not yearn until I ache to follow His purpose for me, seeking it out as I seek Him, with all my will? For His perfect will works in and through each of us. Even when a family member dies. Even when the future doesn't turn out as we expect. Even when the one we love walks away. Even when we aren't rich, or very pretty, or don't have grass as green as our neighbor's. God has a purpose in everything. He let me live, and so much more, and I can only believe that He has a purpose in that. I can only thank, worship, and praise Him for that. For everything.
Even in the heartache, He is there. I'm learning to find Him there; in the joy and the sorrow and the mundane, so that this life He has bestowed on me will have a singular, perfect purpose: His.
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