Wednesday, January 9, 2013

asking for miracles and making sandwiches

I have been trying to write a blog entry for a couple of days, but during the day, I am distracted on a moment-by-moment basis and lose my train of thought and when I come back to my computer, the thought is gone. I read my partial posts and think, "When was that funny? Was that funny back before I heard Tristan eating yogurt out of the garbage? Because it is not funny now." And then that post gets saved as a draft, because my hoarding tendencies go beyond baby clothes and now I hoard words too.

So now it is evening, and I wouldn't call my house quiet, since there is a stream of worship music coming from the MOG's office with the occasional diversion to a Michael Jackson track, like he has a playlist called "Early Vineyard and MJ" which is probably not true, because his songlists are all called things like WorshipSoak1 and FINALalbumfinalcopymaster2. Also Tristan is singing something to the tune of Jingle Bells in his crib. So it's not quiet but it's relatively calm.

How are things going? Well, they're emotional. There are moments, late at night when the house is asleep, that the what-ifs and the realities hit like a sucker punch and we're too tired to be brave and so we crash. There are moments during the day where R2 looks peaceful and happy and we forget for a moment that he is changing. The small people are still hilarious and somewhat oblivious and selfish and compassionate and hungry, always hungry.

For me, I walk through my days gingerly, feeling kind-of bruised, like I had a little tussle with a tornado and I know it could get me again at any moment. I try to walk the line between borrowing trouble and dealing with today. I ask for miracles, make sandwiches.

I have a soul-deep understanding, so, so deep that these days will come to be the most precious days of my life, whether he is healed or he is not. We are living love and gratitude, because we have the gift of today. I didn't see that last week and I think I do now.

We have been surrounded with kindness, with prayers and support and food and practical help. I worry that I'm not saying thank you enough, that I'm not expressing how grateful we are. We're in a whirlwind of questions and changes and answers and in the midst, great, great kindness and we are so thankful for all of you.


  1. just precious, Jessica. Thank you for allowing us a glimpse. Your writing captures . . . reality and holiness and the mundane all rolled into one.

    Know that you have friends at GHOP in St. Louis praying and caring from afar.

  2. I've never met you, except for on this blog, but I'm praying you and your family and especially for R2. Much love to the Clark family.


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