In the wisdom that comes with adulthood, my affection has migrated towards springtime and Easter has become my favorite holiday. As with most Christian holidays, the modern world has transformed and commercialized the day. But as the world awakens from winter and bursts into the color of springtime it's hard to ignore the symbols all around, reminding us that the snow will melt, the sunshine will warm, and "Sunday will come." Daffodils and hyacinth blooms spring from the earth once frozen. Warm breezes replace biting wintery winds.
As my life continues to fill with more people to love, I also feel a renewed sense of life's fragility. Every time we open our hearts to love, we open ourselves up to disappointment, grief, pain, loss. But the miracle and celebration of this season is that the fragility of mortality is finite. We will endure no disappointment, depravity, doubt, disability or death forever; nor alone. Because Christ came and because He lives, we can burst through every trial triumphant.
For me, the Easter season with it's eternal reminders came at the perfect time this year. Days before, I left a doctors office trying to hold back the sobs that were aching to come out. Trying to be strong in front of my two year old whom I naively brought along thinking it would be just a quick well check for my two month old. I went into the appointment with a few concerns that I thought would be resolved as "no big deal," or "she'll grow out of it." I left the appointment with a doctor I trust thinking my baby might not be able to see. That parts of her skull could be fused prematurely, a condition that would require a craniofacial surgeon to break her skull apart so her brain could continue to grow. That she may be aspirating milk. That she seemed developmentally delayed and stuck in the "newborn blob" phase.
Good news on the medical front is great, but perhaps even more encouraging was the gentle reassurance that we consistently felt even when we didn't know what would come of it all. Our journey with all of this is not over. Betty will meet with a pediatric neurologist, continue to receive therapies from Early Intervention, and have more extensive follow-ups with her pediatrician. We have no idea what the future will hold for Betty (or us, or any of our children, for that matter), but we do have that reassurance. And if we choose to access it, we can feel that our loving Father is over all.