Storms

My hand rested on Emily’s side. Her breath rose and fell under the blankets.

“Pulmonary embolism.”

That’s what the doctor had said. I didn’t know what that was.

But I knew it might kill her—and our unborn daughter.

So I kept my hand on her side. How would I tell if a blood clot was traveling through an artery on its way to stop her heart? I didn’t know. I felt so powerless.

We didn’t yet know anyone in our new Colorado home—with its wildfires, rich ski bums, and high rental prices. We were alone in a strange land.

I didn’t want to worry her, but I had secretly packed a bag and traced a route to the nearest hospital. I was ready to put her in the car and rush to the emergency room.

I couldn’t fix her. I couldn’t save our daughter.

But I could keep watch.

So I did.

My hand stayed on her side as it rose and fell.

Steady. Steady. Steady.

But so painfully fragile.

If we could just make it through the night.

+++

A few months before and a thousand miles away, I drove down a dirt road outside of Fayetteville, Arkansas in the Chevy Cavalier my parents had given me.

“Where is that next house?” I thought.

I glanced at the map sprawled out on my passenger seat. I had lost track of how many houses I had been to that day. The insurance company paid $8 for every house I took pictures of—they used the pictures to update their policies. And there were always fewer houses than bills we had to pay.

Our savings were quickly dwindling, the house we were renting had just been put on the market, and I had no prospects for a career anywhere on the horizon. I had such high hopes for my career. Being a part-time photographer for an insurance database did not fit into my master plan.

The phone rang.

“Chris, I’m pregnant.”?

Three weeks.

It had been three weeks since we got married. We had planned to travel the world together. To go on shared adventures. There was so much lost time to catch up on now that an ocean no longer stood between us. But that phone call changed things.

We had no money, no medical insurance, and I had no idea how to be a father.

“I’ll be home in 20 minutes. I love you,” I said.

I hung up the phone and gripped the steering wheel.

Our life was changing and I wasn’t ready.

I was powerless.

I took a breath.

Steady. Steady. Steady.

Our life together, so incredibly fragile.

If we could just make it through that day, and the next, and the one after.

+++

Two years earlier, I sat in my old bedroom at my parents’ house. With a click of my mouse, I had just booked a one-way ticket to Istanbul. I was going across the world for two years. Two years of adventure—two years apart from her.

My phone rang. It was Emily.

“I am going home to Boise for Christmas. Please don’t call. I just don’t think I am ready for a relationship,” she had said.

The phone went dead.

My heart broke.

I stared blankly at my itinerary.

I guess that was it. The journey we had been on, the love I felt kindling between us, despite all my efforts. It just wasn’t enough.

I wasn’t enough.

I was powerless.

I took a breath.

Steady. Steady. Steady.

The life I had imagined with her had proved to be heartbreakingly fragile.

If I could just make it through the next two years.

+++

I wonder how it must have felt to be on that small boat struggling against the waves. The Sea of Galilee tumbled and tossed Jesus’ friends around while lightning crashed and thunder clapped. Chaos rumbling up from the deep black water threatening to swallow them—to pull them down into the abyss.

They kept rowing.

Steady. Steady. Steady.

They were powerless.

Their boat so treacherously fragile.?

From high on a mountainside, Jesus saw them as they pulled and pushed against the waves.

So He climbed down and began to walk across the water to them.

This was the moment.

Jesus was going to pass them by.

Why?

Before the foundations of the earth were laid, the Spirit of God hovered above the deep, chaotic waters. With a word, He brought order. Mountains rose, continents spread out, and peace replaced chaos.

Later when Moses asked God to show him God’s glory. The God called “I Am” put Moses in the cleft of a rock. “I Am” was going to pass Moses by—so just a glimpse, just a taste of the wonderful, overwhelming, dangerous, peaceful glory and presence of God would settle onto Moses' heart.

Jesus walked to His friends. He was going to pass them by. He was going to show them something incredible.

But they weren’t ready for that. I wasn’t ready for that.

They wanted the storm to stop. I wanted the storms to stop. They wanted everything to be okay. I wanted everything to be okay.?

“Don’t be afraid,” Jesus said. “Ego Eimi … ‘I Am.”

And the storm stopped.

+++

Two weeks after Christmas, my phone rang. It was Emily.

It was the night before I flew to Istanbul.

She told me she had a good Christmas in Boise and wanted to call me before I left the country.

“Why don’t you check your flight itinerary to make sure you’re flight is still on schedule?” she had said. Storms were raging across the country.

I checked. My flight was delayed for two days.

“Two days?” she asked. “Would that be enough time for us to go on one more date … I think I might be ready for something more.”

+++

Almost nine months after Emily called to tell me she was pregnant. We climbed into my car and drove up the interstate from our home in Colorado to the hospital in Denver.

A storm rolled over the Front Range of the Rockies as we drove. Snow began to fall.

The next morning we woke up to a blanket of white outside of our hospital room. In our arms was a beautiful little girl who changed our lives in all the best ways.

+++

Light peeked through our Venetian blinds. My hand was still on her side. I hadn’t slept. I had kept watch. She stirred and miraculously, incredibly, woke up.

“We need to go to the emergency room,” I said. “Now.”

“But we can’t afford it.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

I got her in the car and drove her to the emergency room. The fear on the doctor’s faces scared me as they whisked her away and pumped her full of blood thinners.

I watched as she disappeared behind the doors.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was a doctor.

“She is going to be okay,” the doctor said. “She is going to be okay.”

I had tried to be steady but discovered I was painfully fragile.

The storm of emotion I had been holding back broke.

And that’s when I felt it, like Moses in the cleft of the rock—that wonderful, overwhelming, dangerous, peaceful glory of God.

#somewhereoutthere ?