No Longer a Slave to Fear

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 for 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. It had been two years of chaos, having moved across the country, with new people to discern, and a new home to create. We were still working in fight or flight mode...surviving, if in a very first-world sort of way. The hospital stay, the diagnosis, the treatment...we made it through and saw God's care for us. But 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 full force. Fear attached to me. I felt like my heart was actually exploding (...pretty sure I was experiencing 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 and over, (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f8TkUMJtK5k), and this piece came out of me. Peace found me.