We are home! We have 7 medals, and 65 bags of laundry, a broken washing machine, and all of it is good.
Our kids are tired and bickering and recovering, and honestly, that’s OK. They survived so well (for cats). They had 2 weeks of late nights, one at Joy Camp, one at the Transplant Games, and 2 weeks of wonder-filled days. We got home at 2.30am on Saturday night, but of course (or is that “curse”?), the two smallest were still up at 7.30 racing for the iPad the next morning.
Either way, we made it to church on Sunday for the first time in a few weeks and it was so great. I mean, from the first song, I was in the throne-room. There’s a guy who has a simple view on life and lives to love others, and he’s my yardstick for the spiritual temperature in the building. When he’s fist-pumping in sheer joy – and always, always, he’s moved at the right moments – I know I’m not the only one who senses God’s presence. Honestly, I figure if the God who made the Universe is present, you should know it. Right?
One of the songs was called “For all You’ve Done” – “Though I’m broken I’m made whole, You are my Saviour. For all You’ve done and yet to do, I worship You. For every step, You brought me through, I worship You …”
This Sunday was the very first Sunday Jesse had graduated out of Sunday school and into youth group, and was sitting next to me during the service. All my prayers and thanksgiving for him were in that song: there was this very real sense that though he was broken, God will make him whole in the only way that really counts. A whole and healed heart.
We saw a lot of broken bodies this last week. There was a lot of broken-made-whole in the physical sense. I loved seeing that. I got a picture of Jesse and his lovely friend Felix with two Mexicans who came up for the games. They all had matching scars.
The day of the swimming competition was almost my favourite. All those battle scars. Each one etched in pain, but no one was covering up.
They were all so beautiful to me. The jagged cuts down the heart-chests. The liver-lines directly across the top of the tummy. The neck-vein needle remains. The crescent-moon kidney cuts. Each one a hallelujah for a donor and a country with free health care.
However, I was wishing so badly they could also be the twice-gifted. Gifted once with a donated organ that saves their life, gifted a second time with all sins and hurts forgiven through Jesus who saves for eternal life. It’s not a flippant wish. Do you know how freeing it is to live forgiven, forgiving, without any missing pieces in your heart? Without any nagging sense of something lacking?
For all God has done, and is yet to do – I worship. It’s all good. I’m sorry for none of it.
I don’t believe Jesse will be either.