I would take his pain. I would. Every parent knows that primal, guttural prayer that comes when their child is hurt or in danger. We would take the pain on ourselves if we could, but when we can't, when there's nothing left to DO, we're left with a bitter fear. Our middle son, John-Parker, is physically strong, emotionally tender, and bright in mind. He's also THAT kid... the one who MUST have a purpose in this life because there is no other explanation for his still being alive other than supernatural intervention. (No hyperbole.) When he started hurting we as a family were still running on adrenaline...after two years of uncertainty, betrayal, a general feeling of lostness...and then having just moved to a new place with new people to discern and a new home to create. We were still working in that fight or flight mode...surviving, if in a very first-worldly sort of way. The hospital stay, the diagnosis, the treatment...we made it through all that and saw God's hand caring for us in it. And after a few months, we were able to settle in. We felt some ground beneath us. We were "letting down." When the pain came back, and the MRI showed more damage, and the biopsy was scheduled to look for scarier things than I want to mention, I felt my body reacting to the past three years in full force. Fear attached to me. I kept feeling like my heart was actually exploding (...pretty sure I was experiencing what they'd call panic attacks). JP was handling it well, just wanting all to be normal, but my mama-heart was not. I spent a Saturday up in The Loft listening to this raw, anthem song over and over, about 150 times (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f8TkUMJtK5k), and this piece came out of me. Peace found me. Peace based in the fact that I am a child of God, the source of everything, the I AM. I would take my boy's pain. God takes mine. I love my boy. I am loved by God...and so is my John-Parker.
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