My Song

I nearly missed the familiar melody. Even though it was one that filled our days last summer.

Maybe it was the pouring rain. Or the worn-out feeling that comes with it. Or the girls giggling behind me colorfully fighting its refrain.

But I missed it until one girl shouted,  “Mom!!!!! It’s your song!!!”

So we cranked it up and car-danced like absolute fools.

And suddenly life felt a little lighter.

Because this was the song that my people claimed as my anthem one summer day.

When I gingerly hobbled down the stairs to find them dancing in the kitchen and the same little girl shouting, “Mom!!! It’s your song!!!” When I sat down and smiled at all the life in front of me. When I realized it was okay to let them be my strength even for a little while.

And in those moments, I went from weary to warrior.

Even though my body was frail. Even though my brain was fuzzy. Even though my future seemed uncertain.

Love had found a way to remind me that in my weakness He is strong, that each new day abounds in extravagant grace, that no matter the diagnosis or prognosis or blah-nosis, I am not a weak little girl but a warrior whose God will overcome it all.

So as I sit here in the same little kitchen, looking back at all the mercies given since that summer day, I know there are so many of you gingerly hobbling through this week.

Waiting for some hope. Waiting for some good news. Waiting for the mercy of tomorrow.

And I wish I could hand it out as readily as these words have come.

But what I can do instead is remind us all that it’s okay to be weary and worn and longing for normal.

Because even warriors have hard days and need someone to shout above the noise...

"Hey love, it's your song!"