I’ve often wondered how I would handle tragedy, trauma, life threatening circumstances if they blindsided me. Have you?

Would I curl up into a ball of darkness and seep into the wallpaper, or respond from the deep well of faith, finding joy and thankfulness amidst the struggle? And perhaps that is the question I’m asking myself. How deep is my faith, really?

Last night I screwed in one of those spiral light bulbs into my bedside lamp and it made me realize how much I take for granted. It was actually the first time I’d done it, used one of those. My husband takes good care of me, doing mundane things around the house like updating my phone, putting lamps on timers, and replacing light bulbs when they go out.

He’s out of town. It took me three days of twisting the nob on the lamp without result, to go to the closet and get a new bulb.

He was out of town the night my forehead stuck to the steering wheel while the flashing glow of emergency vehicles bounced off the windshield and the ambulance drove off with my daughter. Alone to handle many decisions in the midst of a nightmare every mother hopes she won’t have.

Breathing deeply, scrolling through my cerebral files looking for someone to call at 1:30am for help. In those moments, I heard God, like a father talks to his child:

You often feel like you need someone else to handle the hard stuff, the stuff that overwhelms you, that you don’t think you are capable of doing on your own. You think other people are more equipped than you. And I’m showing you right now, that you can do this. Because I’m with you and I’m enough.

I inhaled deep, exhaled the self-doubt and turned the key to start the engine. I chose to believe him. Because he’s never wrong.


I stared at the fireman pushing bits of metal and plastic from the front end of my daughter’s car into the median with his broom, mustering up courage for the journey. This drive to the trauma center, I knew it was about more than just doing what any parent would do for their daughter in the wee hours of the morning under the canopy of trauma.

He was giving me opportunity to screw in the new light bulb on my faith in order to see myself more clearly.  Not just for this moment, but for the fulfillment of His future plans for me.

Sometimes we just have to say yes. Yes to pushing past fear, the unknowns, the what- if’s, the self-doubt and the inexperience.  Because uttering the holy yes illuminates the path to destiny, allows the train of His robe to fill the temple of who we are, and push our comfortable stranglehold on life right out of the way.


When I walked into the quiet hospital room void of color, her body lying still and strapped motionless, I grew into my adult self. Unafraid of tripping on the oversize pant legs of my indecision.

Death costs nothing and life costs us everything. He revealed her value the night  He chose to spare her. And I’m a bit undone over the miracle of it all.

He shows you how valuable you are too. When He gave up everything for you.

When she walks across the room to hug me for the third time today, I notice she looks at me differently. The way I hoped she would when I held her for the first time.

We all seem to notice the new light bulbs shining from the bedside lamp of our soul. And I don’t worry about the way I’ll respond to what blindsides me anymore. I have Jesus with me. And He’s enough.


Linking with Ann, thankful for the gift of life, the way it costs us everything, and the way He gave His life for mine. For that light bulb going out and the realization of how much of what my husband does for us is taken for granted.

With my friends Michelle, Laura, Jen, and Eileen.