joy in the morning -- God CAN do this.

it is morning, and i watch the sky wake in streaks of color.  purple. pink. orange. all casting golden kisses onto the stark white of the minnesota snow.  frozen lake shimmers in the blanket of sun rising.  and i am amazed.  God, you do this.  every morning you bring something beautiful.  always different.  from coast to coast, and across the globe you wake the world with something wonderful.  and you do this. you choose to do this beautiful, breathtaking, glorious thing.

God, you can paint the sky with your brushstrokes of beauty, and we are asking you, right now, to dissolve the clot in the heart of sweet ivy joy.  you know her.  you know her well. you knit her together in the womb.  you knit her into the sammons family only a year ago.  she's been brought before your throne by the praying saints of so many.  people across this continent are praying feverishly this week for the life of ivy.  there are even some praying who have only just learned to pray because of this very thing you are working in a tiny girl brought home from china.

you paint the sky in a rainbow of morning gold.  Lord, Lord, Lord, would you bind up the broken heart of ivy. would you bring healing.  mercy.  peace.  your will.

she is so sick.  back in icu - a blood clot and a failing valve. her newly operated-on heart is not doing what needs to be done.  you know that. but the news has been devastating this week for the sammons family in phoenix.  if this clot does not dissolve they are faced with flying back to boston. they are faced with perhaps opening up ivy once again. they are faced with no good options.

and i just cannot imagine...  

and just yesterday,  i found out that yet another friend has been diagnosed with breast cancer.  that's my third friend this year. this mother and wife had to tell her family in the weeks before christmas that she had cancer.

and i can imagine...

i will never forget those painful moments of telling. and my heart breaks for the fear and bewilderment of these friends and their loved ones.  the pain of telling, perhaps greater than any physical pain.

heart issues and breast cancer.  both so close to home.  both are conditions which still continue to wake me in the middle of night.  i worry about bella.  i know she's doing well, but i'm her mom and i worry.  the breast cancer thing too.  it's there.  my prognosis is so good, but every time i walk into the oncologist's office, i am reminded that after a cancer diagnosis, it is always a part of your life.  even after a bilateral mastectomy, there's always something to watch...monitor...manage.  new science. new medicine.  something else to test for.  a pill to take daily. a troublesome thought camped out in the back of my brain -- removed, but not fully eradicated from the fabric of my human fear.

and in this past year, a friend calls and tells me she has been diagnosed.  another friend writes. she too, diagnosed. and even one more tells me of her breast cancer standing in the supermarket.  and i think, really?  how can there be so many in my circle of connection?

two weeks before christmas, within 24 hours of each other, i had one friend go in for a needle biopsy, another friend, on that same day, undergo a bilateral mastectomy, and a third friend, back in atlanta, lose her three year battle with cancer and go home to Jesus.  i started a post about that two weeks before christmas, but couldn't find the words.  still can't.

and this morning as i watch the sun rise over a frozen lake, even golden,  it seems too much.

clots and chronic heart conditions and cancer...

i know everything is for your glory, Lord, and i believe that. but i don't get this.  it was just christmas, and now these sweet friends are faced with these heavy, hard places.  yesterday, i spent hours putting away our holiday things and sweeping pine needles from every corner of our home. i found myself frustrated with the need to sweep needles.  how ashamed i am at the small things which cause me to grumble and complain. Lord, sweep this pettiness from my life. Father, forget the pine needles, but sweep this pain and suffering from the lives of these precious people.  today, i continue to sweep and i pray, knowing you hear, Lord Jesus.  you hear and you hold it all...the heavy and the hard.  the broken and the burden.

we ask for your mercy and full healing.  we ask for your comfort and compassion.  "he heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." (psalm 147:3).  you can do this, Jehovah Rapha -- the God who heals. you can do this.  you are a God who paints the sky --  glorious and good.  we cannot understand how you choose to display your holiness, but it is good.  it is always good.  i read the blog of ivy's mom (mary) and am amazed at how she continues to staunchly trust in your plan and your perfect will. could i be so constant?  could i be so sure?  she is on her knees in crippling fear for her baby girl's life, and, yet, she continues to give you glory and praise.  

oh, that we might be like that in our faith.  that we might have the faith of mustard seed moving mountains.  that we might be able to hold the hem of God's garment when those mountains shake and fall crashing into a dark sea. and, dear ones, that is where God's glory is truly revealed. the sunrise captivates us and catches our morning eye, but God's glory is demonstrated in the lives of those who, though suffering, surrender. fully.

while i am typing out this troubled post, my friend, diana, who is in constant contact with mary, sent me this text from mary:

"we need a miracle in the cath lab at 11am.  not for a cath, but for a fluoroscopy.  if the leaflet in the valve is still stuck, there is nothing else they can do here. God can do this!"

oh friends, please continue to pray -- in the words of ivy's mamma, mary, "God can do this!"

 here is mary's blog address, if you'd like to connect directly and follow the updates on ivy joy:  http://sammonsfamily7.blogspot.com/

"weeping may tarry for the night,  
but joy comes with the morning."  ~ psalm 30:5