The road was rocky but the view is worth it!

The memories on my social media feeds remind me of summers past. Not that I could forget. 

The feed of photos from the triplets' teen years could explain why my stomach knots up when I think about our time in Arizona. One surgery after another. 

One hard recovery after another. One summer spent squeezing in fun around all the therapies, the casts, the incisions that needed to heal.

(I would be remiss if I didn't point out that my memory feed also points to amazing friends who stood with us, prayed with us, sent movies and meals to us -- from near and far! We are ever grateful!)

Last week I drove Mason to Newark, New Jersey to catch his flight to Athens, Greece. I was a bit teary-eyed and had to explain that it was not because he was leaving (I mean hello. Of course some of the tears were because he was leaving, I like my people here, within arms' reach! ;) ), but rather because I was completely overwhelmed with gratitude that all those summers spent recovering, rehabbing, working to make his legs be the best they can be was for this. He did the work, endured the pain, and overcame the challenges so that today he could lead students as they dig in Ancient Corinth, Greece!!

Mason's view in Greece!

Benjamin is hanging close to home for now -- working with his advocacy group and welcoming them here as often as possible. He met with our state legislators last week and helped convince them to raise the state reimbursement rate for personal care attendants!! His willingness to put in the work and use his experiences, and his gift for speaking to improve care for all people with disabilities amazes me daily. 

With Senator Laura Sturgeon

Delaware Legislative Hall

I wouldn't exactly want to re-live those summers although I miss having my little crew all under one roof. But on this side of the healing, I am so grateful -- for the medical teams, the prayer warriors, the hand-holders and the amazing young men who endured it all!

Flip-flops, surgeries, and summertime.

Summer was always my favorite season growing up. I love chlorine and watermelon. I love Vacation Bible Schools -- and went to almost ALL the ones in my home town! I love going to the library for summer reading club. And riding my bike a million miles a day. I love summer camp and flip-flops and home-made ice cream. I just adore summer.

But the triplets were three the first time a summer surgery was required. Beautiful friends rushed in and cared for Mason and Claire while I stayed in the hospital with Benjamin. I missed sending them off to their first Vacation Bible School but was thrilled when they had a blast.

I had prepared for the summer of the cast. I bought a little pool for Mason and Claire to hang out in in our backyard and a little fishing pole for Benjamin to "fish" for them from the dry sidelines. We heard Arthur -- the kids absolute favorite character on TV -- was coming to the local library and Wade made sure we could take the recovering Benjamin, with Mason and Claire to meet him! (Only Benjamin wanted near the admittedly HUGE Arthur.)

It never warmed up enough to use the little pool -- or the fishing pole -- but we learned a valuable lesson that summer. We learned that hunkering down and hanging out in our home, together, while one of us recovered from surgery was not the worst thing. We learned we enjoyed time together and we learned that a good popsicle cured a lot of woes.

It was a valuable lesson. Hugely valuable. Over the next 15 years, we would have more surgery summers than not.

I am not going to pretend we went into each surgery summer with a good attitude -- longing for time with just us gathered in our home (over a myriad of states, I should mention.). Usually, we -- and by we, I mainly mean me -- pouted, and dreaded, and fretted. Usually, we grieved the loss of free-spirit summers, of fun and traveling and hanging with friends. 

And yet, somehow, some of my favorite family memories are of those seasons of togetherness, of working through the tough, hard, painful. 

Because sometimes, we you have to be super intentional to have fun in the hard stuff -- check out this example of our  fun recovery. And being intentional means you don't miss any of the moments, any of the milestones (Mason's first big smile after his surgery at 13 still makes my heart soar!), or take any of the good for granted.

Over those surgery summers, we learned about togetherness. We learned the value of a good cookie/muffin/cake recipe (Claire, Cate and I tend to bake when we are emotional!). We learned what it means to serve each other as a family.

And learned how amazing Benjamin and Mason are and the strength of each of them as they faced unbelievable challenges and yet overcame. Every. Single. Time.

Summer remains my favorite. I still love watermelon and chlorine and some cute flip-flops. And now, summer means savoring the times with those I love the most, creating memories that we will savor for a lifetime, even if they are colored by surgeries, casts, and intensive physical therapy. Strength of character seems to smell like chlorine, mixed with a few tears.

Shooting straight.

Today I was asked to provide a photo that I took a long time ago. I had to drag out my external hard-drive -- the one I guard with my life because it has so many old photos stored on it -- and dig around until I found the requested photograph. You might imagine what digging through old photos during THIS my trio's birthday month did to me...I spent a large amount of time scrolling, skipping, and jumping down memory lane. Sigh.

But today, it wasn't cute adorable toddler pics that captured my attention. Today, it was a summer of very hard, a season of emotional, and as I look back from here, a year that really grew us and changed us all.

You were here for it -- Benjamin's spine surgery. I shared all the feelings -- from my sadness when we realized how bad his spine had gotten to our highs and lows of recovery.

3-D scan of how bad his scoliosis had become.

Even here you can see how far he is leaning. We were zooming into his upcoming surgery that month and the weight of the unknown was heavy.

We had his x-rays in November and knew he required surgery. He didn't want to miss his spring theatre show and asked that we wait until after production. This night -- the last of the "Seussical" run -- the crew dedicated the show to Benjamin. I was a blubbering mess.

I kept this photo on my phone for the longest. My birthday lunch, just days before surgery. I was hanging on to my crew with all that I had. If I could have frozen time right here, I really would have. I was so desperate for the next week to go away.

Sent to us from the operating room -- we knew immediately the success the surgery was providing! Before and after spine shots!

Hanging on to my boy in the recovery room. 

And my goodness, these three were amazing. Surgery for one child does not only affect the patient, and the parents. No, these three felt the full weight of being afraid for their brother, of not knowing what the recovery would look like, and being sad for us all to be apart during the hospital stay. But let me assure you that these three were Benjamin's biggest cheerleaders. His whole demeanor changed when they came for visits. They kept the home running, and kept us smiling. And were overall simply rockstars!

Celebrating three months post surgery!!

So as we sail toward their 20th birthday -- I can't help but beam with pride in the young adults these three have become. Their childhood was not filled with ONLY cute pictures and matching outfits -- they went through some serious challenges. But those challenges brought character -- for all four of my crew. And I am thrilled to be in their cheering section as they enter this new decade!!

Rubber Duckies and Hotel Prayer Altars.

"Because I love my duck, and that is why I can't be bothered, love my duck, so let the army run amuck." VeggieTales, "King George and the Ducky"

Yesterday, the pastor referred to a man in the Bible named Mephibosheth and I immediately had to VeggieTales song from King George and the Ducky running through my head.

The triplets were five years old when Mason was faced with his first big surgery. We had traveled to St. Louis for the operation and watched VeggieTales the entire way there. Everyone was exhausted from travel and so the night before the surgery, all five of us were in one hotel room where Wade and the kids were sleeping soundly. I was wide awake. Wide awake.

Summer of surgery.

As stealthily as possible I crept to the bathroom with a pillow, and my Bible. I was desperate for a word assuring me that Mason was going to be ok....I was desperate for assurance.

For the days leading up to the surgery my precious friends in Minnesota had surrounded me with love, hugs and prayers. But repeatedly I had heard from wise leaders that I had to "let go of Mason and trust God with his life" like Abraham did when he was willing to lay Isaac on the altar.

I couldn't. I really couldn't. I could not bear to tell God that it was ok if Mason did not survive surgery.

And so the guilt of the whole thing was weighing on me heavily. I was afraid for my child. I was scared and exhausted and my Mama-heart was so worried.

And then I remembered King George and the ducky....I mean the tune was forever glued to my brain. I was never going to forget King George. This particular VeggieTale was based on King David. George loved taking baths with his rubber duck and one day he saw another duck and began to covet it. A lightbulb went off in my head -- David (the real King David not the VeggieTale version) had been described as a "Man after God's own heart," and yet, he sinned. He saw a beautiful woman and wanted her for his own wife even though she was married. He sinned.

Suddenly, I was desperate for all the facts. I needed to read the story and so I opened my Bible to read about David. But instead of opening to the story of David and Bathsheba, I opened to another story altogether. One I had never noted.

"The king [David] asked, 'Is there no one still alive from the house of Saul to whom I can show God's kindness?'

Zibo answered the king, 'There is still a son of Jonathan; he is lame in both feet.'

When Mephibosheth son of Jonathan, the son of Saul, came to David, he bowed down to pay him honor. David said, 'Mephibosheth!'

'At your service,' he replied.

'Don't be afraid,' David said to him, 'for I will surely show you kindness for the sake of your father Jonathan. I will restore to you all the land that belonged to your grandfather Saul and you will always eat at my table.' " Samuel 9: 3, 6-7 (NIV)

Oh my goodness, this young man with special needs was being welcomed to the table of the King forever! God was showing me how much He cared for my sons -- how much He cared for Mason. I closed the Bible, took a deep breath, and praised God right there in the middle of the hotel bathroom before I took my pillow back to my bed and slept a peaceful sleep.

Mason and Mom, Summer 2015

Can I tell you today that God is faithful to meet us exactly where we are -- even if it requires a cute cartoon and a rubber ducky to get us there!

Counting Star Wars References...

Today is twenty days into my writing challenge -- please if you are joining me today for the first time, I would love for you to click over and read our stories from the beginning. I'm sharing old emails where I unloaded, bragged and grieved from my heart with my closest friend as a new Mama to triplets. I am looking at what counted so much back then and seeing if it is really and truly what counts today. And oh dear ones, if you are still with me after these TWENTY days I would seriously love to hug your neck!

I've most recently been talking about my dear Benjamin and his first orthopedic surgery. The decision was such a challenge, the recovery seemed gruesome in my head....but I love remembering how my boy handled it:

July 20, 2000 -- God is so good! Benjamin is home and doing so very well! He sailed through the surgery and immediately upon exiting recovery started chatting and flirting with his nurses and didn't stop!! You know what a Star Wars fan Daddy is....well, Benjamin looked at Wade in the hospital yesterday and said, 'Hey Daddy, my cast looks like a Pod-Racer!' And so this little booger is delighted to be in a blue Pod-Racer!!"

Arthur was visiting the library the day after Benjamin left the hospital -- we HAD to go meet him!!

We can always count on Benjamin to put things right into perspective for us. I had dreaded that cast. Thought he would hate it. Thought he would be in pain from it and miserable. 

He thought it looked like a pod-racer. And suddenly all was well with the world.

Arthur was Benjamin's favorite -- and quite honestly the only way I had time to shower most days!!

And as I analyze the things that really count -- I know I keep coming right back to this: My young-mama fears during those early years were fueled by my own limited paradigms. I based my hopes for Benjamin as well as my fears for Benjamin on my life experiences. And frankly those are life experiences limited to a fully-able body. 

Yes, I said limited. My life experiences shape my ideals for Benjamin's future and they stem from a very limited life-view of achieving things in one way, through one means. But here is the thing, Benjamin has more capacity to dream than I have ever had. He has more capacity to envision a bright amazing future. He does not function under the same limited, close-minded paradigms of his mother. Thank you, God!

Benjamin is also not limited to the fears that I almost inflicted on him. I am so thankful that I realized at a very early young-mama stage to let him lead the way. A pod-racer. He thought his horrible, constricting, pain-inflicting cast looked like a pod-racer and he was ready to fly!

Benjamin, his blue pod-racer, his light saber and his Uncle Talley!

Oh y'all, counting what counts: Benjamin's wheelchair is not a constraint that holds him back. No, as I have said before, his wheelchair is merely the foundation from which he will reach for the stars. He is more than a mover and a shaker -- he is a rocker and a ROLLER! And I can not wait to see where his imagination takes him! 

That's what counts.

Counting smiles not surgeries.

Monday dawned bright and early today. And even the fact that my Mississippi State bulldogs are ranked #1 in the country could not stop Monday from being well, Monday. But in spite of Monday, and in spite of the fact that I spent my afternoon watching/helping/answering questions while the triplets filled out college applications, I felt this sense of anticipation all afternoon that soon, soon, I would get to turn back the clock for a minute and recall these early days of motherhood, and oh the joy that brought. So thank you for joining me this month, as I work on challenging myself to look back and count what really and truly counts in life. (And if you want to see all my posts, you can click here!)

May 10, 2000 -- "We've had another of our "doctor days"....where my little troopers allow themselves to be poked, stretched, x-rayed and keep smiling! Bless them, and then bless the doctor who didn't mind conducting his exam amidst light sabers (they are Wade's children) and Pooh-Bear books, and bless him for "examining" Claire and pronouncing her knees in need of kisses and band-aids!"

I would be lying if I told you that our "doctor-days" were easy. They were not. This particular appointment the triplets were three years old. We made those appointments with the boys in a side-by-side stroller, Claire walking/skipping/hopping at my side. Perched precariously on the handles of the stroller were two walkers. A Mommy bag was underneath the stroller with all manner of sippy cups, snacks and wipes while also holding light sabers, books, crayons, and anything I could dream up to keep the terrific trio entertained while we waited and were examined.

Getting from the parking garage to the clinic was a feat in itself. Sweet little Claire-bear was expected to behave perfectly. I could not let go of the perched walkers on the handle to chase her at all. We were a finely balanced moving part and one mis-fire and the whole thing would collapse. 

Me: "I can not hold onto you so you MUST hold onto to the stroller handle with Mommy."

And strong-willed, mind-of-her-own child did. She held on for dear life. Looking back I can only shake my head as I realize what an absolute gift that was in itself!

Of course, going to the doctor's office was usually a chance to see our Daddy. He would break away from his patients to say hello and the kids thought this was the greatest. Somehow when you get a treat like time with Daddy, doctor appointments don't seem nearly as rough.

Isn't that a blessing I should count? In the myriad of appointments, therapies, surgeries, etc that these boys have faced -- during those early little years, they were never afraid of the medical staff.

A couple of months after this email, Benjamin had his first surgery. We met with a child life specialist to prepare him and his siblings:

Specialist (Holding up a picture of a man in a suit): "Benjamin, this man is a doctor. He's not scary, is he?"

Benjamin (glancing at picture, then looking to see what Mason is playing with): "Nope."

Specialist (Holding up a picture of the same man in scrubs with his scull cap and face mask on for surgery): "Is this man scary?"

Benjamin (missed what she said because he was talking to Mason, turns to look at picture): "DADDY!!!!"

She dismissed us as ready for surgery after that. If Benjamin thought all men in blue scrubs, scull caps and face masks on were his dad, his encounters on the day of surgery should be a breeze!

I confess to you that I count surgeries a lot less joyfully. I know the number they've had, the hours they took, and the weeks we spent recovering. I can count pounds added from the stress-eating. I can count friendships bruised from my extreme-emotions during the time surrounding their surgeries. I can count, oh the list of negative, woe-is-mes I can count.

But reading this email reminds me of so much more -- I remember the sweet smiles these babies always wore. I remember that even today -- all these surgeries, procedures, x-rays later -- they greet their medical staff with smiles and a warmth that just exudes from them.

Their pervading sense of joy is what counts. I mean what really, really counts is that Benjamin saw his Daddy in the picture of blue scrub-wearing doctor -- not something scary. What counts is that Mason uses the pain and raw fear of his last surgery experience to encourage others to not be afraid in whatever circumstances life brings. What counts is that these young men are not colored by all the negatives that I far too quickly tally. Oh no, they are instead colored by the gifts they have been given that far exceed any negative.

Oh I am so thankful they are teaching me to count. 

I should just have t-shirts made....

I had the pleasure of sitting next to a complete stranger at swim practice tonight. We exchanged pleasantries for a bit. Nothing too deep or life changing. But as is inevitable in my conversations, I mentioned my children.  As I did, I just offhandedly said that my Benjamin is in a wheelchair. We were talking about pools. And backyards. And stuff. But this is so what defines my story that it sneaks into my conversations.

Oh shoot. It doesn't sneak into conversations, I wave it around like a flag:

Attention, attention, I know you see me here with an able-bodied cute little redheaded eight-year-old, but in the interest of full disclosure, you must know that I have three other beautiful amazing kids and two of them have special needs. But did I mention they are all amazing. Did you need to see pictures? 

And then sheepishly I wait. I wait for the conversation to get uncomfortable. For the how-to-gracefully-exit dance to begin. And you can admonish me for not being more trusting, but I'll win this battle, because I have experienced it one too many times. No, not always. But enough. Enough that I know it is what fuels my need for full disclosure. Let's just get these cards on the table before I waste any more time in the conversation. Because if you can not see the value in my children (all four!), or if we make you uncomfortable to be around, then let's not even pretend.

But tonight: tonight, when I mentioned Benjamin and Mason, the air did shift just a bit. And swim mom's facial expression changed ever so slightly. And then this amazing thing happened: she leaned closer and shared that her son, the one swimming, also had a special needs diagnosis. And just like that the conversation went from pleasantries and pools to something more, something deeper.

And she shared a struggle she is having and I shared how we worked through a similar trial. And before I knew what I was doing, I was all out trying to encourage this mom's heart. And another mom pulled up her chair and we had a girlfriend session right there in the middle of the waiting swim parents section to beat the band.

And as I combed Little Red's hair after her shower, I felt a little like the Grinch whose heart grew three sizes that day....

Young me had very few walls. I trusted everybody. I liked everybody. Young me would have walked up into that group of waiting parents and made eye-contact with as many women as I could possibly get to look my way. I would have started conversations and given hugs and sprinkled pixie-dust. Ok...not the pixie dust part, but I think you get my very PollyAnna-ish young personae.

But life can be hard. And life can cause walls to go up. Walls to protect ourselves from pain. Walls to protect our loved ones from hurt.

And this year, some walls have gone up just because I was too exhausted by life to prevent it. And some went up because I was so mad at the world that Benjamin needed three surgeries in one calendar year that I pulled out my own bricks and mortar and put them up with full intent. And my spirit that longs to encourage others has felt flat, beaten down and worn out.

My Mama taught me how to crochet while she visited us for Christmas. I am quite addicted if the three yarn purchases in two days is any indication. And so tonight, I have this visual of having mis-crocheted a row. I just didn't like the way it looked. And so gently I tugged on the yarn and simply unraveled the whole row in seconds. Like it never existed.

Oh, how I wish walls could be torn down so easily.

Tonight was a glimpse. Tonight was a reminder that it is time to crawl out from under all of these walls. To blast out of heaps of stones piled high around me -- most of which are covered in self-pity and dare I say it, complete selfishness. Tonight was a glimpse that I am still here. I am still me -- albeit with a little less Pollyanna and Pixie-dust. A new year is upon us and I am just so glad.

"The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness."  Lamentations 3:22-23 (ESV)

"It was by faith that the people of Israel marched around Jericho for seven days, and the walls came crashing down." Hebrews 11:30 (NLT)

What to do when the weary presses in...

"She was already wearing black. She had borne four children and raised one. Two of her children she had buried in the same week of a diphtheria epidemic, of which she had nearly died herself. After the third child died, she never wore colors again. It was not that she chose to be ostentatiously bereaved. She could not have chosen to be ostentatious about anything. She was, in fact, a woman possessed of a strong native cheerfulness. And yet, she had accepted a certain darkness that she had lived in too intimately to deny."  Pray Without Ceasing, Wendell Berry

Pray Without Ceasing is part of a short story collection by Wendell Berry called Fidelity. My trio of high schoolers just finished reading it -- which means I just finished reading it as well. This quote has been rattling around in my head for a week. The beauty of Mr. Berry's writing inspires me to sit and think and type, praying that I could convey in any of my sentences the depth of character and sentiment that he is capable of conveying in his.

And yet, this paragraph above, this quote about a dear woman who has just learned her husband has been shot, speaks to me far deeper than just a point of literary enjoyment.

Just as evidence that I have not given up on color-clothing.

Benjamin had his third surgery since December today. Third. For the third time I went back to an operating room with him, talked to him while the anesthetizing gas began to work its magic, and left the room crying because I had to do it once again. Because he had to do it once again. Three times in nine months. (A total of nine in his life.)

I know I should be grateful to live in a country where such services are available. Thank you for that, really. Yes, I know we are blessed.

I know I should be grateful that he is alive. That he isn't battling for his life day in and day out. I am grateful. Oh please, never ever mistake my weariness for lack of gratitude. I thank God every day for his life.

But can you hear the heart of Berry's character, Mrs. Nancy Feltner, as she concedes living too long with a darkness to deny it, in spite of her native cheerfulness? I hear her. She is weary from the pressing in -- weary from the pain of watching her loved ones suffer. Weary of consequences that are so far beyond her control, her skills, her ability to fix.

Or maybe, I am speaking of the pressing in that I am feeling every day this season. The desire is there to fight against the pressing. To stand firm and not give in to the grief. To keep smiling and seeking the light. And yet, I too, feel changed by the certain darkness, the certain heartache, that I have lived with too intimately to deny.

And so I embrace John 11:25. I embrace the life Jesus can restore -- can resurrect. I rejoice in the promise that it does not have to be in my might. It does not have to be in my strength. I can simply let go and have Jesus relieve the pressing.

I am after all, a woman possessed of strong native cheerfulness.

Because sometimes a resurrected life, is the one able to lay down the sorrow, lay down the suffering and laugh long, loud and hard.

What a blessing!

Joy comes in the morning.

I know you know. I know I have talked about it. Written about it. Whined about it until you might want to skip this post entirely. But I have to write once more. I have to share one more time -- because maybe in the telling, someone will hear the promise that Psalm 30:5 offers: "...weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes in the morning." (ESV)

Almost ten months ago, the week of Thanksgiving 2012, my Benjamin had his annual spine x-ray. We knew from his outward appearance that he was leaning a bit more. We knew the news might be concerning. But we had no idea that his curve would have changed so drastically that he would require spinal fusion surgery. 

3-D image of Benjamin's curve.

At Benjamin's request, we scheduled the surgery after his theater semester -- the week following his production as a matter of fact. Wade and I felt it was important to honor his desire for the date, even though it meant we would be waiting six months.

Six months. The weight of all my fears, worries and concerns hung around my neck like the tinsel draped on our tree as we entered the Christmas season. And yet, I did not want to color our season with my fear. So, we prayed for joy to replace the fear. We prayed for joy to replace the worry. We prayed for joy.

 And we made it our theme. Our Christmas cookies spelled it out -- literally. JOY. We knew the season -- not just Christmas but the entire pre- and post-surgical season -- would require us to CHOOSE JOY.

Baking cookies...

Trying to ensure we had the same numbers of Js, Os, Ys!

Between the close of their show and the surgery, we took a quick weekend trip to our happy place, Disneyland. We wanted to hug in close as a family and make some fun memories before the surgery. We did have fun. But the weight of the surgery was bearing down heavy and gross. And as much fun as we had we were anxious, and a bit angst-filled. It was hard to celebrate.

By May, he was leaning more and more.

Our family pic in the shirts Benjamin chose for the weekend -- Oswald was Walt's first character. Oswald was stolen from Walt and Disney has only recently re-purchased the rights to  him. For us, Oswald represents perseverance and the strength to overcome the hard stuff! It was a perfect choice for our Trip Of Benjamin!

Today, more than 3 months later, the surgery and subsequent hospital stay are becoming a distant memory. And yet, walking out of the operating room after he was asleep and sitting by his bedside during his painful post-surgical nights, have left their scars. Those moments change me. Those moments require my faith to reach down deep, to tether to the great I AM in a way that holds fast when I am hurt, sad, and angry at our circumstances. I was all of those things in the days following surgery.

Benjamin has amazing siblings who love and support him!

His incision was from top to bottom on his back.

The dramatic before and after spine x-ray.

We didn't break out the cookie-cutters again. But we knew in the days following surgery that choosing joy would be more important than ever. It is hard. It is hard to choose joy when the sleepless nights have left you short-tempered and cranky. But we did our best.

And now...now, that recovery is complete, now that rehab is progressing, we were able to take a celebration trip to our other happy place, Walt Disney World.

Oh Snow White....

Look how tall he looks now on Dumbo!

And ya'll, it was no coincidence that as soon as we booked our trip, Wade discovered that while we were there, Christian artists from all over would ALSO be there, performing in Disney's NIGHT OF JOY! Did you read that? Night of JOY!!

My heart was full -- though soaking wet -- through Steven Curtis Chapman (my favorite!) and Michael W. Smith. But when Mercy Me took the stage  -- the stage in front of Cinderella's Castle -- and began to sing "The Hurt and the Healer," I knew it was a gift for us. A gift from God because we chose JOY. A gift that fulfilled His promise in Psalms -- joy comes in the morning.

Bart Millard and Mercy Me

It's the moment when humanity

Is overcome by majesty

When grace is ushered in for good

And all the scars are understood

When mercy takes its rightful place

And all these questions fade away

When out of the weakness we must bow

And hear you say "It's over now."

I'm alive

Even though a part of me has died

You take my heart and breathe it back to life

I've fallen into your arms open wide

When the hurt and the healer collide. 

(Mercy Me, "Hurt and the Healer")

Joy comes in the morning.

Look how straight he sits!

A straight spine. Hearts full of joy. And the promise of the ONE -- the ultimate healer -- who knows the entire story He has written for Benjamin, Mason, Claire and Cate. There is no greater blessing.