About mid-July, my subconscious starts to remind the rest of my being that the beginning of August is approaching. Scriptures, memories, timing, it all starts bubbling to the surface. Y’all, it comes out of nowhere–and it has, every year since.
I remember the bath I gave Baby Gray after fish fry and sharing that last laugh while Baby Gray was delirious and tired as we headed to College Station. I remember lunch and the phone call. I remember specific prayers people prayed with me over the phone as I called, or they called, or word got around. I remember how God provided those prayers for me to use to pray with him when I had the opportunity. I remember the hospital–what I ate for lunch, that my iPad wouldn’t charge so I could read, the Dr Pepper I went and got that afternoon. I remember the song, the promise. I remember friends showing up to feed us, to take care of our son, to talk, laugh and cry. I remember the conversations I have been able to have about Jesus as a result. I remember the relationships that changed and the break-throughs that have come. I remember it was a Tuesday, then a Thursday, then a Saturday. I remember the longing to get through December. I remember knowing if we could get through December we would make it to the next chapter.
I don’t remember any other time in my life where a season has been so clearly defined. I know exactly when it started and when it ended. It was such a distinct time in my life. It was a time to lean in to God and grow in my faith.
