Our Days are Numbered

There we sat at dinner playing BINGO with a handful of families. Laughter filled the room as people called out “BINGO,” and a child would go up to claim a prize from the mountain of toys.  One woman and her daughter had joined our table during the festivity. We chatted away while finding our numbers on our BINGO cards. Soon we were sharing our stories, and I learned this was their second stay at the Ronald McDonald House. The time before was six years ago. And as we connected, she said something that took my breath away. “Many of the families we were with six years prior have lost their child.”

Chills went down my spine as I looked around the room.

Would there really be children that we build relationships with over the next several weeks that won’t make it? The heaviness of this fell on Esperanza, Bruce, and my shoulders. This new revelation, however, also stirred something in Esperanza, and she desperately wanted to be a blessing to the little kids she had met who were going through treatment. So she made up a flyer and invited several little kids to a spa she set up. She also recruited an older teen living in the house, along with her mom and me. It was a beautiful sight to see Esperanza and her new friend loving on these sweet little kids.

After a couple of weeks in Jacksonville, I left my husband and daughter to fly back to Pensacola. My heart soared as I wrapped my arms around my other three kiddos. And to my delight, over the next four days, my 6-year-old barely left my embrace unless she was with friends.

One day, we went to my friend's house for a women’s Bible study. As my kids happily played with the other homeschool children, I found my heart shattering as I shared the heaviness of being in the Ronald McDonald House. The women surrounded me as I bawled uncontrollably. As we prayed, I cried out in desperation, wanting to see miracles, not children living incomplete lives.

One woman, after the time of prayer, came to me. She reminded me that God knows the number of our days. It is so easy to live lives not thinking that tomorrow could be our last. And yet the truth is we don’t know when our last breath will be. We don’t know what tomorrow will bring. We are not called to live in fear but instead to live with expectancy. Expectancy that this life is not all there is. Eternity is what is real; it is what will last. This world will fade away.

And yet, like many of you, I struggle because this world and those in it are so tangible. Yet I long to walk in the reality of eternity; I long to be so overwhelmed by the beauty of our Savior that His presence oozes out of me and transforms those I come into contact with.

Yet yesterday, as I stepped off the airplane, the reality of what I was about to walk back into hit me as I passed billboards advertising the Cancer Clinics in Jacksonville.

The closer I got to the airport exit, the more my heart exploded inside my chest. Instantly, my mind began to cry out, “Lord, come in power! Let eternity become more real and tangible than it has ever been. Inhabit the Ronald McDonald House and let Heaven come down so we can see Your manifested presence.”

The next morning, Esperanza and I took her dog on a walk. As we caught up on our time apart, we chatted about how sometimes God doesn’t heal people. We discussed how He sees the big picture and He knows the future. So even though things don’t always look the way we think they should, we can still trust Him because He’s good. My daughter proceeded to say, “Yeah, I wouldn’t want to have to do proton therapy again, but I am so thankful that we are staying at the Ronald McDonald House. Everyone is going through something, and it’s nice not to feel like the odd one out.”

Wow, my perspective instantly shifted. God had brought us here not only so that Esperanza could walk free of this tumor, but for so much more. God saw her need to walk through this season in a safe space with others going through medical things as well. Here I was feeling the heaviness, and my daughter was feeling the freedom to embrace this season with others who were struggling as well.

God’s ways are truly not our ways. For I see the needs and am overwhelmed, and yet He views each situation through the eyes of eternity. May we too have His lens.