I arrived late. The gathering space was already hushed in preparation for The Lord's Supper. Jonathan was preparing to pray. I involuntarily started tip-toeing softly to my seat so as not to be disruptive.
Which would have worked quite nicely had Trevy not spotted me.
His cry split the reflective mood wide open.
Those closest to us chuckled. They've known Trevy for over two years now. And marvel at his miracle moments with us. Every vocalization is a miracle.
I smiled. He beamed and reached for me.
It would have been a sweet snuggle moment if he had not insisted on pointing to every single object and approximating with gusto what he thought it was. He has very little respect for the solemness of communion. Somehow I think Jesus is okay with that. But I did the responsible mommy thing and shushed him anyway.
It would have worked quite nicely too. If he wasn't currently in an imitate everything phase.
He scrunched his little face up in this way he has and repeated after me.
Echoed with the instrumental music through the room.
The chuckling around us grew louder. I could be mistaken but it sounded like more voices were joining in.
Which would have been quite nice too...
Except it only served to inspire more face scrunching and louder shushing from Trevy!
I looked down at him. He grinned up at me. Sparkling eyes. Crooked grin. A glimmer of drool perched on his chin. So beautiful. So broken.
And I felt a warmth unfold in my belly. And slowly migrate and swirl making it's way to my sappy heart. Which was simultaneously seeping from my eyes and exhaling from my lips in muffled mirth.
There we sat. The two of us. Surrounded by an atmosphere of worship.
And I was filled with it all in that moment. In that moment I felt nothing but Peace and Joy. A Peace that passes understanding swept around us like a tidal wave.
I spend many many moments sad. In mourning. My son is broken. It drips from every part of him. His brokenness if reflected in the way his little body moves. In the way he communicates. Or doesn't. In the way he smiles. It's there when we force medicine down his throat. It's there when he has a seizure. It's written in black and white on his developmental evaluations. It's there when I think about his future. Or when Toby wrestles with the other little brothers Trevy's age at church because his own doesn't understand how to play like that yet. It's there when his sister prays for his sickness to go away and that he'll talk to her before she's all grown up. It's there when I touch his scar. And when I try to bear hug everything different.
Trevy is broken.
I spend many many moments allowing his brokenness to eclipse everything else. A reflection that I am broken too.
But every now and then I have a moment. A Peace that Passes Understanding moment.
And for just a while my heart is filled with comfort and joy and peace that Trevy's miracle will come someday...
I sat simmering in the moment this morning.
And would have done so for a lot longer too. Had Trevy not...
...noticed the projected glass of wine on the screen in front of us and loudly exlaimed and pointed...
In that moment my simmering bubbled over and I spent the rest of communion hugging him close. Seeped in worship and laughter.