It has been a year since we first received the news that Zoe was sick. For 365 days, God has strengthened and sustained us.
There have been many days when I've looked down at my supply of strength and thought "this won't last me through tomorrow, I can't make it any further." And yet each new morning, there has been enough grace for that day.
I feel like the widow of Zarephath from I Kings 17. She only had a handful of flour and a little oil, just enough to make one last meal for herself and her son. But God was gracious to her, and each morning she found another handful of flour, another spoonful of oil. "The jar of flour was not spent, neither did the jug of oil become empty, according to the word of the Lord that he spoke by Elijah" (I Kings 17:16).
Each morning for the last 365 mornings, God has given me the "flour and oil" necessary to make it through whatever trial, phone call, test result, sorrow, or grievous task was ahead. There really is a great peace which settles into your heart when you cease from striving for control over your own life.
We've done a lot of reflecting over the past couple of days. Cody's been working on a video of Zoe's life and he shared a preview with me last night. As we watched ourselves read to her, take her on walks and to concerts, and introduce her to loved ones, we were amazed at the joy on our faces...joy that came from the strength that Christ himself provided.
I recall those first tender days with clarity. Learning she was sick. The amniocentesis. Weeping. The excruciating wait for phone calls. The confusing and conflicting information about her diagnosis. Feeling her bounce around inside of me as I imagined the dress we'd bury her in.
I remember all of the confusion in those months. No one could figure out what was wrong with Zoe. It was only after we received her autopsy that we learned that Zoe was not afflicted with the more common type of skeletal dysplasia which we once thought. She had a extremely rare (literally 1/1,000,000) condition called Osteogenesis Imperfecta type II. There are other variations of OI with which people live, but Type II is always fatal.
Those three months were terrible and wonderful. I'd never felt so alive...as I looked into the face of death without hopelessness. With deep deep sadness, absolutely. But not hopeless fear. The truth of Scripture enlivened our weary spirits. In II Corinthians 5:6, Paul writes that "we are of good courage" because of the reality of life beyond this life. Resurrection. When resurrection reality pulses through your days, earthly fears are greatly dimmed.
On the morning of March 24, 2016, before the ultrasound when we received the news, I wrote "Father would you prepare our hearts to trust you, no matter what we might find. Help me to believe that you are always good, your character never changes." The very next morning, I wrote "This does not change your character." And one year later, I can wholeheartedly say that God most certainly has not changed. But he sure has changed me.
