When you can’t outrun the diagnosis

So I escaped to the beach this morning. I packed up the kids and sunscreen and snacks and water. The kids put on their suits and got their towels and boogie boards. Libby even put the music on the drive I needed- Radiohead and The National.

And I tried to escape and distract myself.

This afternoon we get the results of Samuel’s testing. Last week we were up in Northern VA at the Children’s Heart Institute.

I know what they’re going to say. Just waiting to hear the official word from the specialist.

So why the angst?

This label doesn’t define him. Samuel is still the same person- just because we have an official diagnosis doesn’t make him magically different.

And yet I’m angry.

I parked my umbrella and chair and got situated. And 5 minutes later a woman and her grandchild park themselves right in front of me. Literally obstructing my direct view of the water and view of my kids in the water.

And I’m freakin seething.

I know she has no idea. And I cannot help but wonder how many times have I been thoughtless like this? How many times have I been so unintentionally rude?

But here I am hating this unknown stranger in my heart. And then I’m angry at myself for being angry.

Trying to take every thought captive.

And I don’t say anything, not even giving the woman a chance to apologize or rectify the situation.

I just sit and seethe.

And yet in the midst of my jacked up heart God loves me. He accepts me broken and bitchy and all.

And He loves Samuel. Infinitely more than I do. And he’s not surprised by this diagnosis. He’s not surprised by my trauma leaking out. Excuse me? Is my PTSD showing.

I just stopped and got in the water. And from the ocean looking back at my chair and the woman’s chair it looks as if it’s at a diagonal. More proof that this precious woman has no clue she’s interrupted my day. She didn’t do it to be mean or vicious. She is just living her life.

And there is God tenderly loving me in my messy, brokenness. He’s not intimidated by me or even affronted.

Jesus paid the price for this sin already. And because I asked, I can be forgiven.

My body is still trembling from fight or flight. My adrenaline is out of control. I am completely imperfect and yet perfectly loved.

I will never not need the Gospel. I need a Savior. I need a redemption. Rejoicing in the gift of Jesus. I am not enough... but He is more than enough for me.