I didn’t want to be there.

Not on that day, anyway.

The day after the Superbowl.  I live in a house of football fanatics.  It was a late night for warrior, mama and 5 of the six pack.

I tried to get out of it.  No luck.

So, there I was.

I was the parent of the day.  Not in the sense that I am awesome.  Not even close.  Parent of the day means running, making copies, cleaning bathrooms, supervising little ones, and being available for general mom duties while wonderful tutors instruct groups of home school kids.

The morning had been filled with standard duties and a broken heater.

Finally, a moment of peace.

I sat down and took one bite of a sandwich.  It would be hours before I would eat again.

Her small voice startled me.

Um, my teacher asked me to come get you.

She said she feels dizzy.

Have you ever had a moment in which clarity rang like a crystal bell?  For a moment, you know exactly what is happening, even if it does not appear clear to anyone else.  You see the train lights in the tunnel and the feeling of urgency grabs you and propels you into action.  You don’t even know why you sense this urgency, but it completely overtakes you.

Logically, I know dizziness can have all sorts of causes.

It wasn’t logic that brought me to toss my sandwich on the table and run down the hall.  It was the train lights and the sense of dread.

I bolted through her door where eight pairs of young eyes stared.

I’m just not feeling so well.

I’ve never felt this way before.

I pulled up a chair and planted myself next to this dear soul who teaches our little ones as if they are her own.

Rubbing her back and checking her pulse, I asked a few standard questions.

What did you eat?

Have you been sick?

Do you have pain anywhere else?

She shook her head no.

The moments following this rushed like the oncoming train.

It was here, in this place, on this day, that I sensed His presence greater than the lights roaring towards us.

Her husband’s voice over the phone.

I don’t live far away.

I can take her to the hospital.

It was then that the urgency overwhelmed.  As if His voice echoed from the heavens.  I answered her husband’s concerns.

I’m going to call 911.

I believe she may be having a stroke.

Please come here and you can go with her.

Time sped.  Mothers of young children flocked.  The moments flowed as if choreographed by God’s own hands.

No sense of panic.  Calm voices prayed with our little ones as they watched a miracle unfold.

Her body grew weak, the ambulance arrived, and soon after so did her husband.

I kissed her head and promised her prayer… and they took her away.

It was nearing the end of the day.  The kind of day when you feel like you are floating… being propelled by the One great force.  An odd peace prevailed.

We gathered outside.  A bitter cold day.  A small group of moms.

Just moms.  A circle formed.  Then, words to the heavens.

We prayed.  And prayed.

It’s not often that prayer takes me to this place.  This place where I think if I open my eyes I’ll see His face.

There is no such thing as “just moms.”

A mighty force when we hold to each other and come to Him.  It blew my mind.

It was true.  She did have a stroke.

I’ve worked with hundreds of precious souls, blind-sided by strokes.

I’ve seen the results… the pain… the suffering… the fear and frustration.

I prayed for the bleeding to stop… before I knew it was a stroke.

You know what?

The bleeding stopped.  It stopped just in time.

She shared her faith with many in the hospital on that day.

We were all where we needed to be that day.

She recovered quickly.  One week later I hugged her neck in the same classroom.

She was new again.

Aren’t we all made new again every time we realize His presence?

Aren’t we always where we should be when we are moving in His will?

We are all a part of this story.  This eternal story.

The story… is so much bigger than just one story.

 

John 11:4

When he heard this, Jesus said, “This sickness will not end in death.  No, it is for God’s glory so that God’s Son may be glorified through it.”