Our sweet little Elias broke his collarbone last week. It was pretty rough to see him so pitiful and hurting. After his accident he wasn’t very responsive, which was so scary for me to experience so soon after Jonathan’s emergency surgery and ICU stay. At the ER I watched him being scanned by the same machines that had just scanned my husband and hooked up to heart rate and oxygen monitors, all of which felt eerily similar to what I’d just been though. As I sat in the ER room waiting for answers about our son, I wondered why God would allow this to happen as I was just finding healing from nearly losing my husband. I couldn’t hold back the tears as my precious son grimaced in pain and the surroundings took me back to those trying days in the ICU.

“The very pleasures of human life men acquire by difficulties.” - St. Augustine

I have recently found myself thanking God for things I have never thanked Him for before. For example, Jonathan has lots of curly hair, and curly hair sheds…a lot. It used to drive me crazy to for so much of his hair to end up all over our shower. (He does try to clean it up though.) But after the pain of walking through almost losing him, I find that I thank God for that hair every time I shower. It is a visual reminder that I still have my husband. Pain gives us a hard but vital lesson in thankfulness. It expands what we see to be thankful for in our lives. Who would think that hardship and suffering could make you MORE thankful? When it comes to surviving and or sinking in painful seasons, we are thrust into a crossroads

There is a beautiful principle found in nature: life from death.

Just because it is beautiful doesn’t mean it isn’t hard. Death is painful. Even these stunning trees will watch every bloom die, every fruit wither, and every leaf fall. They’ll be left with a red scar where life once was. And yet, new life will come. Without the surrender to the death of what was there could never be another beautiful Spring.

The twins are now officially big boys in toddler beds. I remember when I was planning their nursery just before they were born. Our time was running out at our townhouse and we had nowhere to go. We tried unsuccessfully for months to find somewhere to live. I wanted their room to reminded me of God’s faithfulness on the mountains and in the valleys. I wanted a peaceful room, full of dark and light contrast to remind me that both darkness and light are the same to Him. I can be at peace in Him, regardless of our circumstances.

When the soul is wounded, it needs care just the same as a wounded body. I’m learning this deeply. Jonathan has a large physical wounds from this, but my soul has invisible wounds. It needs care just like a broken down body. It needs rest and things that will do it good. A wounded soul needs the medicine of the Truth, for nothing brings comfort and healing like God’s Word. It needs quiet and stillness to heal. Most of all it needs the care of the Good Shepherd, the only one who can bring true healing.