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My heart warms when she mentions I’m included in the round of calls she’s “making to family”.

But this is news you hope no one ever calls you for.

There’s been an accident. Yes, she says, her husband’s fine. The man he was in the car with is also fine… but not as fine.

Static fills the line and I catch something about the second man’s lungs, and she’s speaking quickly because I know she wants to get back to her husband so I don’t ask her to repeat it.

The car went completely underwater, she says, and the people watching thought for sure the two men were dead. But they pulled them out anyway and miraculously, the two men were still alive.

“It wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been,” she says, sitting in the hospital. “God was faithful”.

But dear Lord,
Sometimes it seems like your faithfulness is of the incomplete sort.
The car crash wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been.
And yet it still was.
And sometimes, it is as bad as it could’ve been.
And the disease isn’t as bad as it could be.
And yet it still is.
And you give me an opportunity to speak Truth.
But not the opportunity to see it joyfully received.
And by your grace, we see another person understand their value.
But dozens die without ever the chance to hear.
And I’m floundering in mysteries that you never answer
And Your Infinite Faithfulness that, here in finite-land, sometimes looks so incomplete.
Trusting despite the fog.
Rejoicing despite what is.
And because of it.

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