I am supposed to be cleaning all the junk that’s lying around our house, leftovers from our recent trip to Arizona. But nothing is done and I’m still in my pajamas at 11 am.
{I spent an hour last night picking out Bitty’s outfit for today}
As long as I was pretending to be some expert, easily spouting out medical terminology and assuring everyone that this thing is really nothing, just a little thing to get mended up… I was fine.
{It seemed incredibly important to me that she look her absolute cutest for this appointment}
But yesterday, I realized how scared I was. When she came to me, told me ‘it’s happening again’, and I picked her up and felt the frantic beating of her heart… I wanted to hold her close and squeeze her and never let go… but I set her down and told her to go rest until it stopped.
{I tore apart all her bins until I found the matching hair bow}
Because I can feel it when I’m holding her. And it feels like it’s beating out of her chest. And that… makes it very, very real. And suddenly, I am selfishly wishing this wasn’t happening to her and that I didn’t have to be so worried.
Philippians 4:6
