I remember the day a care package was delivered to the hospital, containing a photograph. My memory was still so disconnected that I couldn’t hold on to the facts that there had been a car crash, or that four of us were involved, or even that I was injured. However, one of the ICU nurses picked up this framed portrait and held it close to my face. I squinted at it, and choked up. “That’s my family.” I saw us all in our nicest clothes, grouped around the newlyweds for that perfect May wedding six months earlier, and I was overcome with relief. Just then it was clear to me – no one was missing. Not one. And I knew that for the miracle it was, however hazy the details had been.
There are families that live with emptiness and grief at the edge of every day. I never want to presume to know how vast that canyon is. Many of them reached out to minister to our family, and rejoiced with us at the healing God accomplished. That is grace and mercy that stuns me with its magnitude.
I don’t know why our lives were preserved. I don’t know why we are not crippled. But then again, I don’t know why we ever had the blessing to be together in the first place. I don’t know why, but I am thankful.
“He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound; to comfort all who mourn-- to give them a beautiful headdress instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit; that they may be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the LORD, that he may be glorified.” Isaiah 61:1-3
