Present

My face was burned so severely that I could feel it sizzling. 

Hours ago, we met our newest son and daughter, bringing them home to the penthouse apartment we rented in Bogotá that overlooked the mountains. Those first few hours were a happy blur. Everything was new and the rest of our lives lay in front of us.... together.

My husband took them to a park nearby as I started dinner. They returned an hour later expecting dinner to be ready.

But it wasn't. I cooked a Colombian soup in a pot I hadn't realized was a pressure cooker. It exploded in my face, ruining the kitchen, and scorching my face, arms and stomach. I was in such shock, I couldn't even remember screaming. But my children told me I did. 

While my big girls cleaned up the explosion, and our in-country advocate ordered pizza for our family, I rushed to the emergency room in an Uber. As I patted my raw, swollen face with the icy washcloth I clutched, I cried silently. The city lights blurred past me, and my heart ached to leave my newest children on their first night home. 

The pain is difficult to describe now - a year and a half later - but what I do remember is the music. As I patted my aching face, the music the driver played was worship music... in English. The pain was physical and my heart ached, but God was there with me in that car driving through Bogota. He was reminding me of His presence, when the pain tempted me to forget.

This morning, I made a similar drive. A dear child of mine was going to their first day of a PHP (partial hospitalization program) and we were both distraught. Depression had swallowed her whole and we needed a way to get her back to herself. So we drove as her melancholy music played, tears rolling down my cheeks from a different type of pain. 

As I changed lanes, I looked over and caught the eye of the woman driving next to me. Her hair was covered by a floral scarf, and as our eyes caught, she gave me one of the kindest smiles I had ever seen. It was a gentle smile, a smile that made me feel seen. I slowed down to let her get ahead of me before merging into the lane behind her. That moment, despite its quickness, felt like a smile from God Himself. He saw the pain in both of our hearts as we drove to this new program. He knew we were both heartbroken, and through the kindness of a stranger's smile, reminded me again that I am not alone. My child is not alone. Twice now, I have been reminded of God’s presence - in a car - driving somewhere I never wanted to go.