Oh, thank you. Darci is doing better today. She broke her fibula and tibia On Monday. They prepped for surgery right away (so scary), but thank the Lord (and thank you for praying with us) the orthopedic surgeon decided to just sedate and manually put things in place.

A little giggle juice, and she laughed and began to drift to sleeep as they wheeled her away. Longest 40 minutes ever! We were so thankful for our other kids being picked up and for a friend who came and distracted us with Starbucks.

She’s casted from her thigh to her toes. She had a rough time coming out of sedation, which was super scary (thank you for praying during that too), but got through it and got to come home. Wheelchair came yesterday. Managing the pain isn’t easy, and she had a reaction to the meds, but she’s doing mostly well. She’ll have an X-ray next week to see how things are. For now… three days on the couch, elevating and not moving.

She was chasing a lizard (of course)! It went behind a big planter box under the front window of the house. Turns out, the box was not mounted and was simply standing on two bricks. When she tried looking behind it, it toppled over and landed on her leg. The thing weighed about 200 lbs. We’re sorry for Darc, and yet thankful it wasn’t one of the smaller kids, or a neighbor. And God is teaching us all… she was cautioned by her brother and daddy told her to stop. It’s no ones fault, but we have known that God wants to reshape our families boundaries of safety and obedience, before moving overseas.

If you know Darci, you’ve probably experienced one of her amazing hugs! She makes friends (big and small) wherever she goes. This has been evident these last two days and she and our family has been well loved… meals are being provided, groceries came just after carrying Darc into the bathroom to find that we needed toilet paper (such a simple thing, but so from the Lord). Folks washed dishes, fed kids, brought coloring books, and installed a dishwasher. We were thinking we’d ask our supporters if it would be ok to spend money on a month of rent here so that we don’t have to figure out moving in with friends these last weeks, but in his abundant grace, the Lord has provided to both ease our finances, and, we will be staying in this house until we move.

As we had been asking God what to do with our extra weeks here… Stephen pointed out his provision in not having purchased our tickets, since now, they would have had to be changed. We see him allowing restful time at home as a family, and are thankful to be so close to fully supported that we won’t have to spend all our time scheduling meetings, but can focus on Darc, each other, and what God might be doing.

Though we can point to some of God’s graces and goodness, I’d be lying if I said everything is OK. I’m hurting. I’m confused that the Lord would allow this. Every time she cries in pain, longs to be anywhere but laid up on the couch, fears whether or not she will ever heal, mourns the things she is and will miss out on… that feeling in my gut returns; that ache that seems to penetrate me right down to the core. I remember this feeling. I felt it when our family walked through something even more grevious with the boys, I felt it with every miscarriage, I feel it when relationships are truly hard, I feel it when Stephen and I can’t figure out how to be on the same page, I feel it when I see the disappointment on Trent’s face each time everyone around him enjoys a yummy gluten filled treat, I felt it as a little girl each time we were tossed in the back of the car in the middle of the night to flee from the evil, I felt it as a teenager whenever I tried fill the emptiness and flee from the pains of the past, I felt it last month when I walked through those prison gates with only an ID and had to be patted down before I could visit with my father who I hadn’t seen in over 20 years, I felt it a couple weeks ago when Stephen carried our young friend up that hill as he cried out in agony and his ankle was clearly broken… in theses moments, the joy in my heart seems buried in rubble and chaos and fear and the air heavy and the future unclear. I want to run, or just crawl into my bed where no one can find me. I want to question God, but I’m afraid to. I want everything to be right, but I know it isn’t. This is what it feels like to suffer. This is the messed up broken world that we’re all navigating. This is what He came to save. This is what the Lord is redeeming.

I don’t have the answers and I have no more understanding than I did yesterday, but, I’m willing to see what there is to be thankful for. I’m willing to ask him how this too can bring glory to his thrown. And as his love consumes the suffering (which I know it will, it has before, it’s how this whole life works), I look forward to looking into my daughters bright blues eyes with the confidence to tell her that everything will be OK, that everything is OK, that God is working out his good plan in and through each of us, and that there is much to be thankful for.