Refinement.

The day the doctor sat with us to tell us Colton had a rare form of infant leukemia I remember this overwhelming feeling of peace. Like that instant God assured me everything was going to be okay. 

She told us Colton had a 20% chance of surviving through his treatment and I quickly informed her that we believe in a God who heals and that statistics meant nothing to us. 

I’m naturally defensive and I’m not sure if that response was more out of anger that she categorized Colton into a small population that wouldn’t survive or if it was out of confidence that God was holding Colton safely in his grip. 

There has never been a time I’ve doubted God’s ability to work miracles. 

But never in a million years did I imagine getting to see them performed again and again in front of my own eyes. 

This week we get to go home, for good. 

Or I should say, that’s the plan. But we all know how that goes- 

There was a time when I wasn’t sure we would ever be walking out of here with our Sweet Colton James following..

In the moments he was too weak to move his body, he lay lifeless in his crib and wouldn’t move an inch from where we set him down. The moments he would moan every time we picked him up and couldn’t sit up on his own. The moments he refused to eat anything and was experiencing pins and needles feeling in his jaw and feet or when he would sleep all day and had no interest in playing. The moments we left him in the operating room for a procedure and he was hooked up to oxygen to assist him with breathing. The moments of injustice. 

I wasn’t ever sure what God was doing, and I’m not sure I’ll ever know. 

But just the second I ever started to take Colton back into the grip of my hands I’ve been humbly reminded that He is much safer in the arms of Jesus than in the arms of me. 

Surrender is uncomfortable. 

It causes us to stir and think and feel things we don’t want to feel because we realize how little control we have. 

God hasn’t ever called us to be comfortable in anything but Him. 

And from a diagnosis I realize our entire life changed. 

But God didn’t. 

He never has. 

He’s not here one day and the next day too busy to tend to us. 

He doesn’t leave us when we question his goodness or doubt his presence. 

He’s still calling us to be joyful in all things, still wanting us to walk in discipleship, stirring our hearts to heal and calling us deeper into relationship with him. He’s caring for us intentionally and tenderly. He’s patient when we’re restless and ready to reveal more to us when we’re ready to receive. He’s cautious and loving with my fragile and desperate heart and when life is too hard to bear he’s always met me with grace and truth. 

You couldn’t pay me to relive this year of our life. 

But i’d do it all again to get a greater glimpse of the affection God has for me.

Because it has refined me. 

There’s a lot that I don’t remember and I’m sure there will be days when memories flood back to me that I’d pushed away or tried hard to forget. 

But I know my desperation and cries for help were moments I saw mercy in action. 

I’ve never wanted things to be different and begged for them to stay the same all in an instant- but this year I did.