the grace of time

I went running the other day. It was glorious. I haven’t had the urge to run through the winter season, so it was special.

Then it started to drizzle.

Instead of panicking and trying to run home, I kept on going.

And the Lord put such a sweet memory in my heart.

I was 5 years old. I looked out from the porch and it started to rain heavily. I looked up at my grandmother, with eyes pleading and asking if we could play in the rain. I remember it being such a victorious day. Possibly because we were not allowed to play in the rain, often. I remember the puddles. I remember being soaked. I remember the sheer beauty of my heart brimming with joy.

Most of all, I remember my grandmother watching us from the porch. I can still see her. Her strong stance. Her watchful gaze.

I’m so grateful that the Lord gave me this memory.

Two weeks ago, my grandmother went through a cardiac arrest. She did not have a pulse nor was she breathing. My aunt started to do CPR. My cousin ran from his house to help, since he is a nurse. The ambulances were contacted.

She was resuscitated. She went to the hospital for observation.

As my mother was telling me this story on a Monday afternoon, she started telling me about how her brain function has not decreased. And how my grandmother told her these words:

“Please come home.”

As my mother prepared for her long trek to the Philippines, my plan was to go home if anything happened. To pay my respects.

Over a week ago, I Skyped with my grandmother and then heard these words.

I’d rather you be here while I’m alive, rather than when I’m dead.”

And my heart shattered. And I had to catch my breath.

As I process all of this, I realize that the Lord has given my family the gift of time. The Lord could easily take my grandmother’s life and have her join Him in heaven. But that did not happen. He allowed her to live and breathe a bit longer. He allowed her brain function to be completely unaffected in order for her to say her farewells.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is a miracle.

All of the sudden, I find myself in another season of uncertainty. In the last season of uncertainty, I failed miserably.

In this season, I want to lean in on the feeling of being completely overwhelmed and the sweet uncertainty. I know the Lord wants to grow my faith. I know the Lord wants to grow my trust in His sovereignty.

I see myself trying to fix everything and trying to ensure that I am safe. Instead of depending on his sweet grace.

My dear friend Monica prayed a prayer over me the other night. She stated that God will not give me anything I cannot handle. With gentleness, I thanked her for the prayer, but told her that it was a dangerous statement.

If I could handle it, what is the purpose of the cross? Why did Jesus die?

I cannot handle it. I never will be able to. And my sole prayer is that He takes it all. Especially as we lean in on the Easter season.

So, in the next couple of weeks, my deep and earnest prayer is that I get to see my grandmother, again. This warrior is hanging on as my relatives and I fly from around the world. And if I do not see her again, my heart will rely on the pure fact that her love for Jesus will allow a reunion in heaven.

Two weeks from tomorrow, I am taking a licensing test. A test that the Lord has not told me to reschedule. This test is the only thing coming in between seeing my grandmother. My flesh wants to postpone. I have to trust that the Lord is sovereign, even in the random 170 questions that will declare the professional road I will be walking towards in the future.

As my life has revolved around this licensing test, I don’t want to fail the ultimate test of trusting my Maker.

James 1:2-4 ESV

Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.

So the next two weeks, I am counting down the days of seeing this precious woman. Who helped raise me. Who loves me unconditionally. Who allowed me to play in the rain. Who would take me lunch to school every day. Who is the most earnest prayer warrior. Who has prayed for me in ways I never could comprehend. Who is praying for me now, as her body fights to stay alive. I’m coming home, Lola.

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