1000 Miles

One thousand miles is a long way. No doubt. Try driving it two and sometimes three times a year. It might be a long way, but most of the time, I really don’t mind. The kids have been doing it turned around backwards in the infant carrier from the get go. Both of our families are in Georgia so that trek across I-20 is of the utmost importance. We have our favorite exits memorized— the ones with Starbucks, clean bathrooms and Dairy Queens. (What is a road trip without a blizzard?)

Because we live in Texas, we know we have missed a LOT—birthdays, family dinners, holidays, strange dead animals in the backs of pick ups, parties, churns of homemade ice cream, homecomings, fish frys, weddings, graduations, every kind of sports games from baseball to lacrosse and just fun family stuff. After 16 years, I have gotten used to it. Sadness creeps in from time to time, but we also know this is where God wants us and where He’s called us. We couldn’t love it more………..until a week like last one. The one thousand miles FELT like the other side of the world. Most of you know, my Mom had surgery and received some surprising news. To sum all of that up, she will begin six months of chemotherapy the first of November and we truly believe that will be the end of it. My Mom’s genuine “Pollyanna” attitude has been refreshing, not to mention an inspiration and example to me. She continues to prove to be the amazing woman I have always thought she was. When major things happen like they have over the last 2 weeks, each one of the one thousand miles stink. The main reason I did not go was that I was told not to come, but if the thousand miles had been more like three hundred or even five hundred, I would not have been so inclined to obey my mom’s preferences.
Since children came along, I have prayed that God would somehow bond the children with their grandparents even with the 14 hour journey between them. I trust He is doing His work but last week, I was able to see a bit of evidence. The night before Mom’s surgery I told the children a 6 year old version of what was going on with their Nanna and what the doctor would do. They listened with wide eyes and furrowed brows. I guess my story simmered after bedtime because they had more questions when I awakened them the next morning. When it was time to pray before breakfast, my most eager “pray-er” wildly wiggled his hand over his indescribable bed head. Without waiting to be picked, he just bowed his head and prayed:
“Dear God, Keep Nanna safe. Let them be careful when they cut her tummy open. (getting her confused with a friend who had just had a C-section) Don't let them cut her all the way open. Let them be careful when they get that piece of her body out of there. I pray for momma’s……… for Krista’s………… for momma’s nanna, no Momma’s Momma. I love Mommy, Daddy, Nanna, Papaw, God and Jesus and the breakfast Mommy made. In Jesus' Name. Amen.” (Touched that we were all on the same level as the waffles and bananas.)

Without reminding him about Nanna, here is his bedtime prayer:
“God, please be careful with Nanna and make her all better. I love Nanna, Papaw, Momma, Daddy, Julia and myself. Amen.”

Again, with no mention of Nanna, his breakfast prayer the morning after the surgery:
“Keep Nanna safe. I love Nanna and Papaw, Meema and Doodle and all of my cousins who don’t know who we are anymore because we haven’t seen them in a long time, and I love my Momma and Daddy and my sister. (And with a tone bordering on disrespect….) And God, thank you for getting that bad stuff out of Nanna and don’t let it EVER come back AGAIN!!

Is God answering my prayer? I’ll take that as a “yes”. Thank You.