Never Will Forget (Part 3) (Last one) (Maybe)

 The plan was to drive to Crawfordsville to tell our grandparents. We wanted to do it in person; we needed to do it together. The drive was quiet, heavy, slow. We pulled into Nana and Papaw's and prepared to rock their world in the same way ours had been. Grammy met us in the driveway. I couldn't be more thankful for a family so close-knit. I couldn't be more thankful that the town of Crawfordsville is small. 

That conversation was brutal. Nana and I gripped each other's hands, willing this to be a nightmare we would wake up from. We prayed, parted ways, and prepared to wake up the next day with this new reality.

Shockingly, that morning was wonderful. Heartbreaking, certainly. But so peaceful. I woke up to breakfast, made of course, by Dad. Went on a walk by myself, praying and singing. I sat outside on the porch and read Leviticus -- not my first choice in times of trouble, but it's where my Bible plan had me. It's where I stayed. We sipped coffee together, read books, sat outside. I even took a dreamy spa shower with all the fun creams and scrubs my sister keeps in her tub.

But when I got out of the shower, I heard a voice I didn't recognize. A man, on the phone. I stepped outside, wrapped in a now-soaking towel. Christen had her head in her hands, sobbing. Cam was on the ground. Dad was shaking as he listened to the words of the mystery man. Joe immediately came and gave me a hug. 

I was too late in the conversation to but in. I heard enough: "Tumors on her brain." "Incurable." "Doesn't look good."

My body trembled with rage. I wanted to scream at the man. Scream that he didn't know my mom, he didn't know what a fighter he was, he didn't know what our God could do. But of course, he had seen the scans. There were many other things he knew. 

It was an interesting array of emotions following that call. Dad burst into tears for fifteen seconds, only to pop up, shake off his sobs, and then rush to comfort us. Cam ran outside, full speed -- a 6'4 brick of a human nearly shattering the rickety back door. He wailed once outside. Christen crumbled. All I could feel was rage. I fumed, pacing furiously up and down the stairs, still dripping from the shower, still clutching my towel. I screamed, "WHERE ARE MY SHORTS?!" I couldn't find them, and it seemed life was spiraling so far, so fast out of control that I couldn't get hold of anything. 

We rushed to the hospital. We cried the whole way there. We refused to leave mom's side for that entire afternoon. Dad went into secretary mode, making phone calls to employers, family, friends. His quiet strength calmed us, but mom's radiant peace soothed our souls. We could feel the Lord sustaining us with His promise of providence. 

It was no coincidence that at church the next day, the first song we sang was "Great is Thy Faithfulness." I have never cried so hard during worship. We had bid Mom farewell on a joy-filled note after a lovely day together. I can't reiterate enough how incredibly strong she was. During our breakdowns, we could look to her, knowing that she was looking to God, and that her eternity was secure. I'll never forget the most powerful words she spoke to us as we left: 

"If I live, I live, and if I die, I live." What hope we have in Jesus. 

It was a whirlwind of a weekend, but as I reflect on it, all I can think about is the peace that was provided. It truly does surpass understanding. It is the peace that comes with knowing that Christ's death defeated death for us, and this life is a blip, and there will never be a moment we are not held by Him. I remember the texts, the news, the drives, the phone call. No doubt, I always will. But the recollection of peace trumps every memory of the madness. Thanks be to God!