this is your lot.

Last night, I threw my shoes. Clear across my bedroom, I chucked them. And then, I punched the wall, took a long bath, and went to bed without taking my contacts out (that’s rebellious for me).

I had a good temper tantrum last night and, though it looked like something a 3 year old would do, it felt needed and good.

We had another appointment for West yesterday that didn’t go quite as we had planned and ended with 3 of us holding him down, wrapped in a sheet, trying to draw blood for labs. It resulted in a change of meds, a few frantic texts with our phenomenal specialist, and a late night trip to the pharmacy.

After we got the kids in bed last night, I let it all out. Tears of frustration, anger, and sadness flooded my cheeks.

My son. My beautiful, precious baby. He experienced more pain and heartache in his first two months of life than I can physically comprehend. It makes me sick – literally sick – to think about. And as we were focused on providing therapies and interventions and love and care to minimize any effects of the trauma he experienced so early in life, HUS happened. And robbed him of his healthy body that we were praying so hard for.

And now, we wait. I should pray, have faith, and rejoice for every single day. But to be honest, I wait. And worry. And research. And prepare for the worst possible scenarios. And whisper prayers in the middle of the night. And then I get so, SO angry, that my son’s short life has been overwhelmed by trauma, tragedy, and illness. I want to scream, to stop it, to do something to change the course of his lot.

But then I creep into his bedroom, just as I do every night, and watch him sleep. He looks so content. And so peaceful, snuggled up to his blue teddy bear. This IS his lot. And Ben and I have both watched, humbly, and with shame towards ourselves, at how he has handled the lot he’s been dealt.

I don’t know where we gain the mindset that we aren’t supposed to experience trials and tribulations. Or maybe its just that we don’t think they will actually happen to us. But the fact of the matter is that we will experience trials. In fact, James tells us to count it as joy (James 1:2) when we do experience them.

And I can look no further than West to see how to do just that. I know he’s only 2, and maybe that’s the beauty in all of this. His innocence is precious. To some extent, he’s blissfully unaware of the circumstances of his life. He has no idea about his past; he’s accustomed to his frequent appointments, and as long as no needles are involved, he’ll flash his signature grin and his playful spirit to anyone around him.

Although he is unaware, he’s done more with his ‘lot’ than most people would do in a lifetime. He’s softened hearts, touched lives, and completely changed our family. Currently, he’s not concerned with what his numbers are suggesting, and he doesn’t care about the loads of research that I do. He knows he’s loved, fed, bathed, and cared for. And he goes to bed every night with a smile on his face and a ‘dove do’ (love you) whispered in my ear.

I cannot change his past. And I cannot change what has happened to him. What I can do is choose to accept his life and his circumstances just as they are, just as he does so beautifully every day. And I, just as he does, can choose to use these circumstances to glorify God’s amazing grace – because we have certainly been covered in it.

It’s ironic to me that the biggest, most important lessons I’ve learned in my lifetime have been taught to me by my children. West shows me every single day that life is meant to be LIVED, no matter your circumstances, fully and wholeheartedly. He is a continuous reminder of how our lives serve a far greater purpose than we can see, and how God’s abundant grace is evident in seemingly hopeless places.

I have spent the greater portion of the last 4 months crippled in fear – reading, researching, and worrying about circumstances beyond our control, trying to CHANGE his lot. While instead, West’s innocent and unconscious decision to live his lot FEARLESSLY and ABUNDANTLY, regardless of his circumstances, have changed the people and the world around him.

The older I get, the more clear the picture becomes; so much in our lives is beyond our control, and often, not a part of our own plan. Whether its sickness, death, divorce, betrayal, family matters, work circumstances, or the like – we don’t plan on this junk happening. We can’t change it, and we often can’t control it. What we can do (a sermon that I’m currently preaching to myself) is LIVE, fearlessly and abundantly, knowing we have a Lord who is ALWAYS in control. As I’ve had the privilege to see in my son, your lot doesn’t define you – it’s how you choose to live it that does.