Oh, how one phone call can change everything. We were up in the Tahoe/Carson City area,
just our family of four, enjoying some time away after our college student and
high school student finished finals and my dad was home from skilled nursing as
he was recovering from a broken hip. The
weather was snowy and beautiful, we were loving our time together in one of our
favorite places, and had enjoyed a wonderful dinner the night before with one
of our most favorite people. I slept in
for the first time in months. Then I
looked at my cell phone upon waking.
Three missed calls from my Texan brother who had arrived at my parents’
house for Christmastime just 36 hours before.
I felt my stomach drop. I called
back. I could hear it in his voice
before he said anything concrete. We had
to come and come now. Dad was in an
ambulance on the way to the hospital.
We were four hours away by car in the best of weather. It was December and anything but the best of
weather and road conditions. We woke the
kids and pulled out of the hotel we were planning to make our home for the next
day and a half. As we drove, I kept
trying to talk myself into being ok. I
had passed many, many hours in hospitals with my dad these past few months, but
every time, against the odds, he rallied and went home sooner than expected. He would rally again, right? I looked toward the mountains on our left and
saw an amazing rainbow. Nice, I thought. Not something I see every day, but I could
hear the edge of a whisper to my anxious heart: “I’m here, I’m faithful, and I’ve
got this.” Good reminder, but quickly forgotten
in my distraction and fear.
We kept driving and I kept trying not to think too
much. We labored through snow and rain
over the I-80 pass and started back down through the mountains, toward the
hospital where my parents and now all of my siblings were keeping watch
together. I was kept up to date through
texts and calls from my sister in law.
It didn’t look good. One last
ditch effort treatment, she said. That set
my mind spinning, pulling me into the space I was not prepared to go. No. Not how this was supposed to be…and then Grace
said, “Hey, look!” I turned in the
direction she was pointing and saw it:
piercing through clouds in an unlikely patch of rain streaked sunlight
was a full double rainbow. Really? Twice in one day? He
reminded my heart again, a little louder, “I’m here, I’m faithful, and I’ve got
this.”
With my husband’s efforts to drive as quickly and safely as
possible getting us closer and closer to the hospital where my dad was fighting
for his life, I prayed that I wouldn’t get anymore texts or calls until we were
there. And then. “The treatment didn’t work. He’s not going to make it” showed up on my
phone. And all the oxygen left the
car. I looked up again, not knowing what
to say. And again He spoke. Another full double rainbow outside my
window. “I’m here, I’m faithful, and I’ve
got this.” I knew then (because the
other two times weren’t quite enough for me) that “I’ve got this” might not
look like I wanted it to, but it would ultimately be ok. Truly.
Just because it wasn’t the outcome I wanted, with my Dad once again
rallying and coming home in time for Christmas, didn’t mean God didn’t have
this in His hands. Because He has
me. And He has my family. And He has my dad.
About 45 minutes away from the hospital I got the message “He’s
gone.” My heart broke. There were no
words. But as we walked into that ER
private room where all my family surrounded the physical form that carried my
dad for 88 years, I could still hear the whisper in my heart: “I’m here. I’m faithful.
I’ve got him.”
In the nearly two weeks since this happened we have mourned, cried, and buried my Dad. We have grieved together and experienced the kindness and sympathy of so many around us. And through all this I have held close to my heart these words:
The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.
-Psalm 34:18
I know He will be present, faithful, and hold us close as we walk into these next days and years. It doesn't always look the way I think it should, but as long as He is close by, I will walk in confidence.
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