It's been 10 days since our "episode" with Ty and I finally feel brave enough to say it out loud: "Everyone is healthy!"
As I held my breath this week (partly in fear of symptoms and partly because I sprayed a near continuous cloud of Lysol for three days straight) seeing who, if any of us, would get sick next, I felt something I have not felt in a long time--fear.
Fear for my children. Fear for an invisible enemy I could not stop. Fear for unknown outcomes and trials I'd rather not experience. My mind calculated and re-calculated contingency plans. If McKay showed ANY signs of a cough we would take him immediately to the hospital. If I got sick, I would go to a hotel. And on. And on. And on. And you know the result of all that constant worry? Lost time. Wasted energy. Worry is not preparation. Planning, preparing; that's different from worry. Worry leaves you feeling helpless. Hopeless. Unproductive. Distracted. Worry is the opposite of trust.
A scripture came to mind this morning as I continued to exhale the week that was. "And the angel said, 'Fear not, for I bring you good tidings of great joy.'" Fear not. It was the very first phrase the heaven's uttered when our Savior descended to mortality. Fear not. The Lord does not want us to be afraid. He wants us to trust. Trust in Him. Trust in each other. Trust in His plan.
And there is a plan. Most days I fall short of seeing what some of the intricate details of my plan have to do with the big picture of what He's making of me. But there are moments; moments when you feel the stars align; moments when people show up at your door or in your life at just the right time; moments when you get the tiniest glimpse of His love. And those are the moments you feel fearless. You feel surrounded by love and want nothing but to give it to others.
I have had more than my share of those moments. I am blessed. After all, it was one year ago today that I lived the most fearful night of my life. One year ago I was trying to stay present in what I worried may be my last day with a three-month old baby who would have his second open heart surgery tomorrow. One year ago, I was trying to trust and failing miserably. One year ago, I wondered if God would let me raise my little McKay just a bit longer. We prayed. We cried. We watched him sleep. And we woke to a morning where we had to trust in our strength to purposefully hand him over to another. We had to trust doctors and nurses and surgeons and God. And God, He is kind. Of course, all was well. McKay has exceeded every expectation of growth and health and quality of life in the past 12 months.
And this year? This year has been among the best, worst, hardest, most fulfilling, soul searching, growing times of my life.
And for that I am thankful.
Sure we're back on oxygen. Sure we're slip-sliding our way back into the operating room. And on the outside it may seem we have not come that far. But I can tell you, on the inside, nothing will ever be the same. We are forever changed. Changed by love. Changed by trust. Changed by answered prayers--and time. Changed by our perceptions of the time we're each given--it is precious and fleeting and not at all our own. And as awful as it was to feel fear again this week, it was good to be reminded of the contrast between fear and faith. They are opposites. They cannot exist in the same same heart. And I choose faith.