God once spoke the clearest word to me. It was a defining moment. It was permission. It was direction. It was promise of hope, of better days.
That word was ADOPTION.
When I was told I had type 1 diabetes nine years ago, I was elated and crushed, simultaneously. I had been sick for a year and a half. Diabetes stole. It mocked. It taunted. It confused. It teased.
I was emaciated, depressed, and hopeless.
While curled up on a hospital bed, barely listening to a diabetes nurse educator talk to me about counting carbohydrates and injecting insulin, I was just me: broken and sick. My tiny frame was covered by an oversized hospital gown. I was covered in wires and tubes and bruises and anger.
But when the conversation turned to family-building, when the nurse asked me if I planned on being a mom, everything changed.
As she went on to talk about diabetes and pregnancy, a word popped into my mind. A word that changed the trajectory of my life.
As I spend this month thinking about my disease and its mysteries and intricacies and tricks, as I think about how far I've come, as I think about the surprising gifts my disease has given me, I notice glimpses of color. Quiet reminders of how God has used my diagnosis to bless me, change me, teach me.
It's the veggies left on a highchair tray.
It's the ballerina twin-size sheets on top of the laundry heap.
It's the beads in my girls' hair.
It's the scraps of construction paper strewn about, a project half-completed, and abandoned, all in the name of creativity and childhood adventures.
Reminders of how God sent a rainbow after the rain. A promise. The flood was bad. Devastating. Seemingly endless. But the rainbow came---gloriously, brightly.
Where is your rainbow today, Sugars? Where has God placed color to remind you that He's there?