Living Through Dormancy PicToday Meg and I sat outside listening to Christmas music with a beautifully decorated tree towering behind us. Being 80 degrees and warm in our short sleeves felt so wrong and wonderfully right. With the leaves still on the trees and grass green, there’s so much more life compared to the brown dormancy we’re used to this time of year.
It was good to see Meg relax. This morning she laid whimpering and whining as the wires and buttons were hooked up to her head. With the way she was told to breathe and watch the flash and flickering strobe light, I’m fairly certain it could make any normal person seize. Falling into my lap when finished, she told me “Now I know what worn out feels like.”
One of the clinics called and said the results from the blood work yesterday came back. Several levels were off. The nurse said the dr might want to take her off the brain pressure medication, which is what the surgeon is already doing.
Meg sat staring out her window at the parked cars around us. She closed her eyes slowly and laid with her forehead against the car seat. For the first time in a long time, I felt like crying. I wanted to yell at God and tell him it’s fine if he doesn’t put my life back together the way it was, but not her’s. Let her be a normal little 5 year old. Let her run, and skip, and sing like she used to. I want to hear her laughter coming from another room instead of her cries. I want to see a smile instead of her tears.

As Meg and I took in how greener and living the world seems here, it seemed to correlate to our life. The thought was ever so depressing. Then I realized dormancy is what’s required to survive at times. It’s slowing down, drawing back, and resting. I thought about what we’ve faced and how we would never be where we are now if we hadn’t. God was protecting and maintaining us. He’s been keeping us going. We’ve done what we could and rested knowing God would take care of the rest.

In many ways, He’s taught us to be hearty, grow deeper, and strongly endure both the drought and freeze. He’s drawn us to himself to rest and restore us, teaching us there’s a different level of living aside from what can be seen. He’s shown us to live.

Not living as though tomorrow may be our last, but living full in each and every day, no matter the conditions or circumstances. Although it’s come at a price and it doesn’t feel lucky or good, we’ve seen a different angle of the holiness of God.

While I hope the test results come back good, I also know in a sense it doesn’t matter. It can change life, but we will still do as we’ve done every day. Knowing so, keeps the tears at bay and joy in my heart. While I don’t know where we’re at on the spectrum of flowering and dormant, I think we’re in a really good place, one where things can feel so wrong and be wonderfully right.