Breathe Deeply

“What if God healed you tomorrow?” my daughter asked me one morning. “Would you want to be healed?”

“Hmmm…no, I don’t think so.”

Six years ago, in one brief April moment of skidding tires, shrieking metal, breaking glass and side-impact airbags, a green Toyota minivan slammed into the side of ours at 50 miles an hour, and instantly changed our lives.

Within weeks, my kids’ injuries healed. Mine did not. For three years, I journeyed through tests and procedures, medications, specialists, occupational and physical therapy, and multiple surgeries. I alternately hoped for, prayed for, begged for healing, and God said, “No.”

“But why, Mom? Why wouldn’t you want to be healed?”

“Well, it’s not that I like living with pain, but I know me, and I’m not sure I’d stay this close to God without it. What if God healed me and I suddenly slid back into old, familiar habits – hurried and impatient and stressed with no time for people, no time to notice God in the moment, no time or desire to stop and breathe in His incredible beauty? Honestly, that would be worse in every way than this.”

“But how do you know it wouldn’t be different now?”

“I don’t know for sure, but when the pain is less I still feel a pull to do more, to be more. For the past six years God has proven He’s sufficient, more than enough, yet somehow on the better days I still feel that old tug to fight Him for control.”

“Why?” I wondered silently. So I can be harsh and impatient and critical and rushed and judgmental? Really? Who would choose that? And yet…I do.

Aloud, I answered my daughter, “Maybe God is choosing not to heal me, because He knows my injury is better not only for me, but for everyone around me. I might not like the pain, but I do like the person I’m becoming because of it.”

Over the years, I’ve been asked a surprising question, “Don’t you wish the woman who hit you would know all the pain she’s caused?”

No! Not once, not ever in these past six years have I wished that. It was an accident – just an accident. For one brief moment she looked away. It could have been me. How often have I looked away, distracted?

I can’t go back and undo what’s done, but even if I could, I’m no longer sure I would, because through the pain I’ve discovered a treasure – an accidental treasure – the incomparable beauty of God, grace in the moment, strength for each breath, mercy and love paving each new step of the way. How humbling to see myself through the filter of pain as God’s Hand carves away my independent, critical spirit, hewing off harsh judgment, chiseling away at my foolish pride, sanding off raw edges, and slowly, methodically day-by-day, grain-by-grain, polishing my soul, till His Spirit living in me begins to brilliantly shine through me, becoming, one day, a worthy vessel fit for the King.

Seventeen years ago, I walked into a McDonald’s with my young son. We ordered lunch, and I picked up the tray, took my son by the hand, choose a booth, and settled in. Minutes later, chaos reigned. My son refused to sit, refused to be still, refused to eat. He fidgeted and whined and flung a French fry, tore up two napkins and scattered the pieces, and finally climbed across the table, grabbed my iced tea, ripped off the lid, and thrust his hand in deep reaching for the lemon slice. Iced tea erupted across the table and all over my lap.

Overwhelmed and exasperated, I wanted nothing more than to leave the restaurant immediately. I shoved my half-eaten burger in my purse, grabbed a stack of napkins and mopped up the booth, hoisted my squirming son onto my hip, took two steps, and stopped.

There in front of me sat another mom with a table full of well-behaved children, not one or even two, but four little kids, all laughing and talking and smiling and actually enjoying each other’s company. “How is that possible?” I silently cried. “How can she handle four when I can’t even handle one?” And before I even thought about what I was doing, I crouched beside her table, my son still writhing on my hip, and poured out my heart.

Fast forward seventeen years to a warm June afternoon in a quiet church where I sat listening to my now 18 year old son sing and play guitar in the worship band for his high school graduation. As the band finished practicing, the run-through of the slide show began and I gasped, “I know that name! Seventeen years ago that graduate’s mom led me to Christ and she doesn’t even know it,” I thought, though she soon would as a tear-filled, joy-filled, embrace-filled moment of recognition ensued.

One ordinary woman in an ordinary restaurant on an ordinary day investing one third of an ordinary hour in another, forever impacted the lives of more than a dozen members of one family across three generations. Why? Because that woman serves an extraordinary God!

That is the awesome, august, almighty power of the risen Christ, the sacred heart of the Great Commission, the amazing blessing of community, and the indescribable legacy of faith that changes the world. One life touching one life touching one life in ever-expanding circles spreading higher, longer, wider, deeper, farther than we can ever begin to imagine, than we will likely ever understand this side of Heaven. That is the incredible, unbelievable legacy of lived-out faith.

So what does it take to change the world? One ordinary moment filled with One extraordinary God!

Father, may we never be too busy to share Your love, mercy, compassion, and grace with the world – one heart, one life, one family at a time. Amen.

*THANK YOU, Susie VanEerden, for listening with a selfless, compassionate heart as I poured out my own nearly two decades ago. Your eternal legacy is beautiful and profound and farther reaching than you may ever know!

This post is part of the Christian Writers Blog Chain for August. Our topic this month is also “august” — “marked by majestic dignity or grandeur.” Check out each entry via the links in the sidebar to the left and may you be most blessed!