There was no healing.

We recently got the official news that Shilo will not be able to walk independently.  It wasn't a surprise.  And, we're thankful to have something concrete so that as we work to make our house as accessible as possible for her, we can keep this in mind.  The cause is likely extended intubation brain damage.  It's more complex than that, but that's the best way to explain it. 

 

 

I recently sat in on a speaker, sharing with mothers an inspirational story.  The gist of it was that her son was sick, and it took much longer than it should have to figure out the diagnoses.  By the time he was diagnosed, he was at great risk of permanent damage and death.  He spent four days in the hospital.  And, he miraculously completely recovered.  No lasting damage.  Completely back to himself.  Everyone around me had tears running down their cheeks.  All glory was given to God.  He is so very good, after all.

I remember so many times in Shilo's first year where I wondered when our happy ending was coming.  I mean, we did what we were called to.  We stepped up and adopted a child that society saw as less than.  Surely we deserved great rewards.  Certainly God would show up at any time, and prove how very proud of us He was.
But, he didn't.  There was no miraculous healing.  There were hard days and nights.  There continue to be hard days and nights.  And, to really finalize the memory of those three months inpatient, we have the daily reminder of her inability to walk. 
I'm certain no moms group will be inviting me to tell her story.  It's a story where things were hard, then got harder.  It's a story about a life of a child with a disability, that has had diagnoses upon diagnoses added to her medical files.  It's a story where God does not show up in a grandiose way.
It's also a story about a little girl that completely wrecked us.  And, continues to.  That little girl smiles through blood draws.  She hugs me every day when I pick her up from kindergarten.  And, she changes the hearts of everyone she meets.  I don't mean that lightly.  I'm convinced her smile originates in the depths of her soul, and passes joy on to everyone around her. 

 

 

I don't need a big grand healing.  I need the daily dose of grace, reminding me that He is indeed sufficient.  I need the conversation with God where I ask the hard questions and He just silently whispers to keep asking.  Even if it's for the rest of my life.  'Grace upon grace, my daughter,' he reminds me, even when there are no answers. 
And, I need to share her story.  Our family story.  About how there were hard things, then some more hard things, and currently, there are hard things.  All that we have the ability to do is walk through those.  Perhaps our story makes it much easier for others around us to relate to us.  Perhaps the hard stuff is simply a result of living in a world where things are just not perfect. Through it all,  we will continue to give all glory to God.  He is good, after all.