I didn't sleep well at all overnight. Isaac was up until after10:30 trying to convince me that it was an excellent time to play with his Dolly, dog-dog (Pillow Pet) and a host of other toys that he'd smuggled into my bed. Then after he finally settled (or I fell asleep -- I don't actually know which came first), I had a stream of awful dreams. Nightmares, really. As I laid awake ruminating after a particularly brutal one came to an end, I realized something: The spiritual battle rages on in the form of images in my nighttime rest. How so? Well, all of the people featured in the worst dream of all have been instrumental in helping us along this journey. From the pediatrician to friends who have sent particularly meaningful Bible verses for reflection, they were all targeted.
The moment that that truth revealed itself to me, the anxiousness dissolved. I was still awake for much longer than I'd have liked given the hour, but I wasn't afraid or worried or up in arms. No, in fact, I felt oddly peaceful, even chipper.
And I awoke this morning feeling chipper. I took Abby to school and was approached by S, a mom from her class last year, who shared that she'd heard about Logan and had been praying for him every day. She added that her daughter had been praying for him at bedtime, too. I smiled -- genuinely -- and thanked her. There really IS an army here, and it's growing every day. And as much as I wish it weren't my family and my dear son, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little excited to see what will happen. I'm starting to believe -- no, really believe -- that something amazing will happen. As I'm pushing out the negativity that often crowds my judgment, I'm starting to feel real, honest hope. And it's not denial or delusional wanderings taking over; it's me allowing myself to believe that miracles could happen for us. Finally.
Of course, it's an ebb and flow process so I know I'll have my ups and downs. But it's okay because I expect them. It's just nice to know that we could really and truly beat this thing.