My 6 year old climbed into bed with me and let out a deep sigh as he laid his head on my shoulder. His babyish fingers fiddled with the green beads on the bracelet I had given him when he asked for something to “remember me.” When I asked him what he was thinking about, the fears came spilling out. “I don’t want to miss you mama, I want you to stay.” He echoed what my heart whispers every time I look into the eyes of my little people. We all want more time.
My condition has a life expectancy of 5-15 years. My symptoms started 6 years ago. I guess many would say I’m living on borrowed time. It’s a heavy thought when you think of it that way. That’s the thing though; every one of my days are already perfectly appointed, however many that may be.
It’s easy to get caught up in fear when you have something that has put an expiration date over your head. I’m not going to lie and say my mind doesn’t wander there, wondering sometimes over how long I have. The more I have moved and leaned into this season though, the more I am filled with an overwhelming peace that I will be here the perfect number of days. It’s a painful belief we have that people are taken from us too soon. “She was too young.” “He died too soon.” “She was taken from us much too early.” Can any of us point to someone who died right on time? I choose to believe that God allows each of us to die at the perfect time, regardless of the circumstances. This gives me so much freedom.
Instead of focusing on my life expectancy, I’m choosing to live expectantly; expecting joy, daily graces, and the perfect number of days to do life here with my people. I’m soaking up the snuggles, rolling with the grumpy mornings, and pledging to be present for the big and small moments of every day without fear over my future. What if you decided to believe that everyone is here for the perfect number of days? Who would you be?
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