*Originally posted in May 2012
Yesterday was a big day. It wasn't Daisy's birthday, but it was her life day. I almost feel like she was re-born in that ICU. She came so close to disappearing; we came so close to being obliterated. We all just sat, on the edges of our hospital couch - you at your computer screens. We held our breath and watched her fight. And, damn, did she fight.
I wrote these blog posts and you read them. I cried out to Jesus and you joined me. I told her story and you shared it. We worked together, you and I. We loved my baby together and I felt it. Joe felt it. We all did. Some of you cleaned our house, took care of our dog, cared for and loved our older children, visited us in the hospital, brought us food, ordered pizza for the entire staff, flew from California to hold Daisy all night long, wrote me emails and helped us with our bills. Shit. You did so much.
How can I ever force mere words to contain the gravity of what you did for us? We were lonely people, isolated and doubtful. We carried wounds from people and were in danger of being crushed by our own perception. And then you, humanity, rose to our defense. You loved us, even if you didn't know us. You bolstered us with potent prayers and surrounded us with compassion. We were stunned and irreversibly ruined.
We love you. We remember you often. We live in the awareness of God's holy love spilling out of ordinary people. Daisy was rescued that week, but so were we. We found something we thought was dead. Without even knowing to ASK for it, we discovered community again. The kind of community that grips you by the shoulders, looks you straight in the eyes and is not afraid to find pulsing need just beneath the surface. You were the instruments of hope for hopeless people.
Go on with your bad self! Spread more love.