in an instant...

It's crazy how life can change in an instant.

Like, one minute you're enjoying a Sunday afternoon family bike ride.

And the next, you're consoling your sobbing child with a broken wrist in the ER.

It's awful.  All of it.  

Watching your daughter's body slam onto pavement as she careened way-too-fast down the hill and lost control.

Untwisting her from the bike, helping her up as she's crying in deep pain, complaining that her arm hurts.

The minute we get her home, sit her in a chair to assess what's happened, and see a once-petite wrist swollen up with bones under the skin where they shouldn't be. 

The panic we feel as we rush to the emergency room, with her writhing in pain and scared to death in the back seat.

The only way to stay calm in the moment: watch a show.

The struggle to stay "strong" and "positive" in the ER while my daughter is terrified at every step, even at taking an x-ray. 

Hearing the words "fractured wrist" and "surgery" for my six year old, and watching her try to take it all in.

It's just been AWFUL.  And I feel like I'm crumbling into pieces, yet trying to hold everything "together" for my baby girl.

temporary cast and splint until surgery

 I know that breaking bones is a rite of passage for parenthood.  I know it happens ALL the time, and I know she will ultimately be fine.

But I never realized how traumatic it all was.  I never knew how fractured our hearts would be going through something as "normal" as this.

I told Caroline we'd be tough going through this together.

"Mommy, you're gentle, not tough," she replied.

She knows me too well.

As I'm praying with her in the emergency room and teaching her the truths of Scripture-- that Jesus tells us his children will face tribulation, but that He will always be with us and will not leave us--- I'm literally struggling to believe the words coming from my own lips.

waiting to see the hand surgeon

Can I trust Him?  Will He take care of us?

And then the loud, resounding "yes" comes in small doses...

My neighbor happens to be in the yard while we're rushing off to the ER and offers to keep Jameson.

The hand surgeon on-call that night happens to be the best one in our town, and the one who I saw when I accidentally cut my hand.

A friend brought us a meal the next night.

Another neighbor watched Jameson the next morning so I could care for Caroline.

A couple came over late that night just to sit alongside us in our pain.

Friends all over the country are lifting up my daughter and my family before the Lord, even when I'm too overwhelmed and anxious to do it myself.

He will care for us.  He will care for her.   And it's unfortunately through suffering that I'm able to see it more clearly.

Resting and elevating!

 But our hearts are still anxious for what lies ahead.

Friday morning before the sun rises, she'll be in surgery.  She's scared.  I'm scared.  (I'm the kind that gets queasy at just the thought of blood, people.)  We are not talking about specifics of what will happen, per orders from the doctor.  To her, a shot is the worst thing imaginable.  I do not even want to think about the moment she must get an IV.

She knows she'll get medicine to take a nap, and that they'll put in the pins while she's asleep.

"Will the pins make me bleed, Mommy?"
"What if I feel them do it?"
"How am I going to write at school?"
"I'm scared of surgery, Mama."

I know, baby.  I know.
But the worst is behind us, baby.
And everything they do is to help us.

"But I'm scared, Mama."

Me, too, baby.  Me.  Too.

camping out next to Mom & Dad's bed

Oh, God, please get us through Friday.  I simultaneously never want it to come and wish it were here already.

After that, it'll be two weeks of pins and splint-wearing.  Then pins will come out (ouch) and she'll get some type of cast to let things heal for another couple of months.  Possibly some rehab after that.

So maybe by Christmas we'll be through this?

Thankfully, today and tomorrow she's back at school (sitting out of recess, of course), and enjoying seeing her friends and keeping her mind off of everything.  The pain seems to be tolerable, and we just wait until Friday.  Marc and I are attempting to resume normal life in the meantime, but absolutely nothing feels normal right now.  

Many thanks to those of you who are praying for us, checking in with us, and offering help our way.  We love you, and appreciate you loving our little girl along with us.  

We'll keep you updated...