She was sitting on the couch right next to me, all cuddled up. It was two o'clock in the afternoon and she as home from school, a rare treat. After an eye examination that required four adults to hold down her body and then what would have been a box of tissues to wipe the tears, we just needed to sit, body to body.
And right there in the midst of the smiles, my mind begins to wander to the future. The unknowns. The what-ifs. The will-she-evers. I know better. If I have learned anything in parenting a child with a rare genetic disorder it is that one step at a time is the best pace. Don't race too far ahead, Britt. Don't let the unknowns of our future steal the peace of our today.
I know this, but my mind still goes there.
My precious child, four years old, has never said a word. Will she ever speak? Ever babble like an infant? Will year four be the year that I hear the sound of her voice?
Will the gap between my child and her typical peers ever grow closer? Or will the gap widen as the years roll on?
By the grace of God her eyes show no signs of decay, but will time prove otherwise?
I tell myself to shut it off.
Don't let the unknowns of our future steal the peace of our today.
Because there is still joy in the today, despite my circumstance.
Joy is not dependent on my circumstance.
Genuine, deep joy is possible because Jesus offered His life to cover us all, to cover all the unknowns. He gave us himself and that is the prize. My daughter's development is not the prize. Jesus' blood and a life in eternity with Him is the root of my joy, not my daughter's ability to speak or play appropriately with her peers or attend a typical school.
So my prayer for us today is this: Let's not lose our joy in the unknowns. Let's claim the freedom we have in Christ to be joyful, regardless of the path under our weary feet. Let's be bold in our joy and show the world that there is so much good, even in hurt. Even in the pain. And even in the unknowns.
Because while my daughter can't speak, she sure can laugh.