Last night as we were anticipating the glory of being cast free, he reminded us. Without the surgery, without the splint, without the cast, the hand would be permanently injured. Fingers wouldn't straighten, couldn't hold tight.
And I remember that somewhere, somehow through the pain and the restriction comes real, true, lasting healing.
And so I become thankful of not just the results but also the process . . . in time.
::perseverance we didn't know was there::
::left handed drawings, done well, without such frustration::
::skilled doctors and nurses::
::the educated coming to the child's level to ease her fear::
There was a little girl crying in her seat a little less than a month ago convinced that she would not be able to play, or draw, or anything ever again. Right now there is a little girl in a purple cast who doesn't give a second thought to playing and dressing and drawing and putting on her seat belt. The growth of her skill set has been great. The growth of her character has been amazing.
Oh, how thankful I am to have been part of the process of healing (though I'm not sure I will ever be able to say I am thankful for the injury that spurred on this healing process.)