Logan's eye still looked off this morning, which is always a less-than-great way for me to start a day; it filled my heart with that familiar old sense of dread and fear. I very begrudgingly agreed to take Abby and Isaac to church with me after Adam pointed out that he went last time. When we arrived, I checked in, dropped them off in their respective classrooms, and headed off to the sanctuary. I met my friend Erin along the way, and told her, in no uncertain terms, that I really didn't want to be there. But I felt the pull, and knew I had to go inside.
While everyone else worshipped in song, I dissolved into tears. I'm something of a paradox: Though I don't mind my life being an open book here, there's something so embarrassing, so mortifying about crying in public, out where just anyone can see me. But it was really, truly the only thing I could do. I saw an image of myself as I sat there, rubbed completely raw and near-bleeding, absolutely enveloped in tremendous emotional torment and pain.
Mid-service, I reached for a Bible and opened to Mark 11, the passage I often reference about casting the mountain into the sea. For the hundredth time (at least), I mused over it, wondering if it were true. Sadly acquiescing that even if it IS true, I don't have the unwavering faith that it takes to move mountains. I'm weak. I'm wavering. I'm, in modern terms, a hot mess. But still, I was once again drawn to the words and left to reflect on them.
As we headed out, I remarked to Erin on those words; on how it's hard to believe they're true given that some of the church's most outwardly faithful envoys don't seem to take them at face value. And then I gained resolve: I need to believe them. I need to believe that Jesus didn't lie; that His words are true and applicable to life. And that I need to own them, believe them, make them a part of me.
And then I got an unexpected jolt. I collected Abby from her classroom, but when I went to retrieve Isaac, he was nowhere to be found: Not in his classroom where I'd left him, not in the nursery a few doors down, not on the playground. Nowhere. People scattered like marbles hunting for him, trying to trace his steps. I'm sure they moved quickly, but it was as if my own vision of the events played out in ultra slow motion. My heart pounded and I had to fight hyperventilation as I stood there helplessly, quite ironically unable to move, unable to take part in the race to find my 3-year old. The only thing I can remember thinking was 'God, why are you doing this? Haven't I had enough heartache? Don't you love me?'
Finally someone called out from the parking lot that they'd found him, standing alone on the sidewalk clutching his Sunday School papers and a baby blue balloon he'd decorated. For his part, Isaac looked bewildered over why everyone seemed so concerned. We'll probably never know how he got out; Isaac is speech-delayed so his communication skills are limited. And the security there is generally very good; I'm in no way, shape or form writing this to be critical of the good people who run the program. I know things happen sometimes. It's possible that I know that better than just about anyone else right now.
No, I'm sharing the story because in hindsight, the experience makes me believe, with renewed vigor, in the veracity of Mark 11:22. The timing of Isaac's disappearance coincided much too closely with my revelation for me to believe that the two events are unrelated. The scare was designed to make me forget my resolve, to skew my focus, to make me doubt God once again, when what I need to be doing is focusing, believing, hoping, having faith.
I don't know what's going on with Logan right now. I'm scared to death over it; I wish his eye would look normal. I wish that I could let it go and have faith. I wish that none of the events of the past year plus had ever happened. But they did, and we must deal with the fallout.
What I'm asking you to do, as his prayer warriors, is to own Mark 11:22 for Logan. To pray it, to believe it, to intercede. To ask Him to move Logan's big, ugly mountain into the sea once and for all.
I know it's a big thing to ask. But if the Word of God is true, we should be able to claim the words and ask, ask, ask. God is, after all, a God of healing, a God of grace, and a God of truth. I believe that He wants to heal my son. I believe that if Logan's prayer warriors all band together and cast the mountain into the sea, it will be done.
Thank you for being a part of Logan's team. Thank you for believing that mountains can be cast into the sea.