Little life. Big story.

I journaled these words March 4, 2012, shortly after our friends, Joe and Christen Byker,  were medically evacuated to Children’s Hospital in Philadelphia so their newborn Hannah could receive diagnosis and treatment for hyperinsulinism. 

I feel like these last few weeks I got to step a little closer to the edge of heaven, to peer in and catch just a glimpse of the body of Christ as it was meant to work, unified in one purpose and set on one goal.
When we all heard that little Hannah had to stay a couple days in the NICU due to low blood sugar and that she had experienced convulsions, it was alarming, weird, scary. What did this mean? Did anyone have experience with this? Then, when the situation intensified and it became evident that Hannah needed to be treated in the states, it all seemed more desperate, confusing, uncertain. The beginning steps toward med-evac and treatment outside the coverage of Dominican insurance were bringing back overwhelming results...tens of thousands of dollars for the flight back, hundreds of thousands required for treatment up front. I heard someone say, “This is such a mess.” And truth be told, from my finite, limited viewpoint, while I didn’t voice them, I heard those same words echo in my mind. Even though they fell against a backdrop of God is good. He is sovereign. Trust in Him. It didn’t make sense, seemed impossible and defeating.

But then things started happening. People prayed without ceasing, gave abundantly, shared the needs. The cloud of witnesses surrounding this little life multiplied and leaned into God, reminding one another of His goodness, His provision, His faithfulness, holding each other up. Soon people Joe and Chris didn’t even know were donating generously, several hospitals were willing to take them on essentially pro bono, and friends, family, and strangers rallied to receive them with open arms in Philadelphia.
But what brings tears to my eyes now as I write is all the little acts of silent kindness--what individually may seem small but together form a thick web of strength and apoyo, provision and abundancia in the body of Christ. I think about their sweet Dominican neighbor who has jumped their fence, fed and watered their dog for these past 10 days. Of their friend who helps clean their house once a week, who noticed their basket of dirty clothes while they were still in the hospital, carried their laundry across town to do it in her own home, and returned it to dry on their porch. I think of students who jumped at the chance to raise funds and other families who offered to walk their dog in their absence.

I have been so humbled, so broken in the smallness of my faith. And yet I am eternally grateful for getting to experience in a whole new way how the body is meant to work.

A few weeks ago I journaled, asking that I would be humbled in my do-it-all, be-everything-to-everyone mentality. Feb 8, 2013: “Would I be content to be the role and part of the body I was made to be, and would I rejoice when I see others operating as a different part and with a unique role.”

I had no idea how He would answer that prayer uniquely through little Hannah’s story. At less than 2 weeks old, she already has an amazing one to tell.