Sunday, March 18, 2012

Finding God on Gerrard St

Sickness and uncertainty has reigned in the Forde home the last few months.

I desperately wish I could say we have had the flu. Suffered from a head cold, some skin irritation or diarrhea (and i guess we have) but the sickness I'm talking about is much more than a common winter illness.

Our journey started just over two years ago. After a series of medical "events" my husband was diagnosed with a genetic heart condition called HCM.

This invited many medical professionals, trips to hospitals, nights of researching, genetic counseling and other new additions to our life.

It also brought it's challenges. The invitation was open to hurt, worry, fear, uncertainty.

Distance.

Fear.

Distance.

Intense fear.

In December of 2011, my husband's condition had escalated to the place where his heart needed some help. He had a pacemaker/defibrillator implantated.

The news, although unexpected, brought with it some peace.

The device was implanted and after this ordeal, our life was promised to return to normal. We now had the reassurance that he could never experience sudden death, again.

In February, I received a text from Jim saying his machine had fired and he was heading to emerg. I had decided I would never receive this message. Unfortunately I had. After a couple of days and a extremely fast trip, we were back in Toronto, Jim awaiting another surgery.

To make a long, boring story short, surgery day arrived. I got up, got myself ready and made my way to the hospital.

On a side note, I have a friend who lives approximately a 3 minute walk from her door step to the doors of the hospital. I was staying with her, and had stayed the time before and deep down I believe this in itself was Godly intervention.

The morning of Jim's surgery i felt sick to my stomach. I was riddled with nervous, for my self and Jim. I was panicked to get to Jim's side but part of me wanted to slip into the sea of people on the street and never stop walking.

I got myself pulled together. My feet hit the pavement, passed the heavenly greeting of SubWay (the restaurant) smells dancing in the morning air. My body craved coffee. My mind craved peace. The day had come.

As I walked down Gerrard street, past the Kabob restaurant and the sushi place I knew I had 3 minutes that were so insignificant that I could make very significant.

I prayed.

I asked God to show me that he was with me. That he knew my heart ache, that he could hear my cries. I sought out peace. Pleaded for healing. Cried for strength.

As the tears streamed down my face, landing on the cracked cement and stains of life, I saw him. In a little court yard, up in a tiny tree I saw him.

Sparrows.

My passing caused the small flock to take off and they made a grand spectacle out of themselves.

I knew that was my God.

A simple tiny sign, just for me. Others walking before and behind saw no significance in those birds, but I did. Others who stepped on my foot prints had no idea the value of seeing those birds, and never would unless they walked in my shoes.

Those sparrows were the answer to my prayer.

"Look at the birds, free and unfettered, not tied down to a job description, careless in the care of God. And you count far more to him than birds." Matthew 6:26 MSG

I glided through the doors of the hospital. I grabbed my Starbucks, rode the elevator up to 5 and descended on room 168 bed 1 with confidence.

That morning I sat with Jim unshaken by the knowledge of the days events. With my body caffeinated I was able to let my mind rest in His peace.

L

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