Layla Grace

I just read a blog about a little two-year-old girl that died earlier this month from neuroblastoma, an aggressive form of childhood cancer. Her name is Layla and she was absolutely beautiful.

Layla's death was slow and agonizing, an allergy to morphine making it difficult to manage her pain effectively. For her last several weeks of life, her parents brought her home to make her as comfortable as possible. Day and night, they watched their daughter deteriorate before their eyes. Watched as she grew too weak to eat, drink, speak, or move.

They lived through every parent's worst nightmare, lived through the wretched suffering of their little girl. They understood what it meant to be impotent, utterly helpless.

But not hopeless.

Until the very end, these people prayed for a miracle. They never lost their faith, but grew in it, depended on it. Even when they cried out in anger and grief, it was still to the Almighty God. And now they know, beyond a shadow of doubt, that little Layla Grace is being cradled in the gentle arms of her Savior.

Reading Layla's story has been an awakening for me. How easy it is to get caught up in this life, to become fixated on the trivial, the temporal.

I was worried about money a few weeks ago while a baby girl lay dying in her parent's arms. I was stressing over laundry while she struggled and failed to raise her head. I was yelling at my kids while she was crying out in agony. I was fighting, lying, coveting and gossiping. I was jealous, frustrated, short-tempered and ungrateful. All while this little angel took her final shuddering breaths and closed her tired eyes.

I am so ashamed. And so humbled by this child's life, her courage. I am awed at a faith that I can't even begin to imagine, a faith that her parent's found strength in. Strength to see them through what must have been the most difficult ordeal of their lives. Of anyone's life.

I want a faith like that. I want a faith that is more than an idea, more than a belief.

More than a lifestyle.

I want a faith that is all-consuming, overpowering, breathtaking. I want Jesus to be more than a vending machine, more than a friend. I want to be made low so I can see how big He is.

I looked at my children tonight and really saw them. I saw their arms and legs, fingers and toes. I saw skin that was clear, heard breath that was easy, stroked hair that was soft and full.

Tomorrow, they will play together, fight together and make huge messes together. Tomorrow they will be normal, healthy children.

Layla's mom is still finding her daughter's clothes in the laundry, seeing her toys scattered about the house. Layla's mom is wishing for just one more minute of time with her daughter, wishing for one more tantrum, one more chance to comfort. One more smile.

What a privilege it is to watch my children grow. What a blessing to see the laundry continue to pile up day after day, to see those toys get played with and spread all over creation in a matter of seconds.

Thank you, Jesus. Thank you for my children. Thank you for their health, their happiness. Thank you for the messes and the tantrums, for the sloppy kisses and the accidental head-bonks. Thank you for the gift, the blessing of having one more day with them. One more day that not everyone gets.

Please help me to cherish Luke and Evie, Father. Remind me every day of your grace, your majesty, your goodness. Give me new eyes to see, new ears to listen. Help me to appreciate this blessed life, not search for the injustice in it. Humble me, Lord. Use me. Renew me.

Make me Yours.

Amen.


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