1,190

Once in a while, there is a moment that catches my breath, as the past four years wave up around me and over me and under me, and I see in a single second just how far God has brought us. Because what is in front of me is a pure, complete, no-doubt-about-it testimony to God’s faithfulness. And when these moments come, I am so caught off guard that I can’t make sense of what I’m actually seeing until hours, days, maybe even weeks, later.

This was one such moment. The kids a few minutes before I had to rile ’em up for our morning routine.

I’d roused Archie from the warmth of his bed, but he needed just a few more minutes before braving the day, so I told him to jump in my bed next to Sam and Charlie, my nightly visitors.

I had already turned the light on as a visual warning for Charlie that the morning was close, so when Archie snuck under the blankets, this was what I saw. Three handsome, beautiful kids on the brink of a great day. Two would go off to school, chirpy and bright, learning their letters and singing God’s praises. One would go with Miss Dawnie, our nanny, to her house, for a day of mischief and hugs, probably a tantrum or two, a nap in the middle.

Look at them. “You’re beautiful, baby.”

And then the wave. The tsunami. The round me, over me, under me moment that sends me a step backward, reaching for my phone, so I can capture this second and spend eternity reflecting: How can this déjà vu be possible in one lifetime? Have I been here before?

We have. In a little blue house where three smaller versions of these babies slept on a mattress with their broken-hearted mama, because all I could manage those days was putting them to sleep right next to me. In a little blue house where we would fall asleep holding each other’s hands because proximity was the only comfort I could muster. In a little blue house where life was supposed to look different.

1,190 days before, when I was convinced God was not big enough to ever again fill the desolation in our lives.

How does the Weaver choose each thread for His needle? How does He put this tapestry together?

I can’t answer this. I can’t explain. There is no sense to be made from these pictures taken 1,190 days apart.

1,190 days.

3 years, 3 months, and 2 days later.

How can this be?

I don’t know how to answer this. What I do know is that my children are well and they know they are loved. What I do know is that, in this little white house where we now live, their laughter fills our home. What I do know is that God is big enough. Whether we are on Day One or on Day 47 or on Day 1,127, He is big enough.

Take heart, beloved. You don’t know what day you’re on, but He does.