just a normal day.

I'll never forget that day.

Mom was leaned up against the desk in a polka dot dress. It was fitting for her. In the midst of one of the scariest days of her life, she was dressed in polka dots. She is always cheery. She always sees rainbows instead of rainclouds. There we were sitting in worn-out pleather chairs watching her answer the unmanned surgery information phone in the lobby of Vanderbilt Hospital. We watched her body language, evaluated her countenance, and waited.

She put the phone back on the hook. No one breathed. We were far enough away that we couldn't hear what she was saying through the tears. But Evan, my step-brother, was standing next to her. All of the sudden, he yelled something. And we knew it was over.

--

I was eating dinner at a friend's house before we were going to mosey across town for a Bible Study, just like we did every Monday night. Usually, we'd come home afterwards around 9 p.m., brush our teeth, watch some T.V., shower, snuggle and doze off to bed. We thought it was just a normal day.

I'd just ran in the 90+ degree heat and was still in my running clothes, unprepared for what was about to come through my husband's phone. We sat down for dinner, and ate, rushing because we were going to be late. I'd left my phone in the car, which I never do. Jordan got a message that he read to himself, and carefully placed the message next to my plate with a blank stare on his face. I read these words:

"I'm on the way home to get Bill and take him to the hospital. We got a call and there's potential he will have surgery tonight or tomorrow. We are on standby."

My mom always used proper punctuation in her texts. But her ambiguity in this one was quite out of character.

My mom married Bill when I was nineteen. I wasn't sure how I felt about having a step-dad at first, but, then again, I hadn't met Bill. He has had heart problems since I've known him. A pile of pills on the counter wasn't unusual after Mom and Bill got married. He'd been through a lot, and this text was vague. We'd been waiting for Bill to get a heart from the transplant list for fifteen months. It had become something we wished would happen, but were kind of losing hope that it would any time soon. He was still healthy, minus that heart and the battery operated pump that took the place of his left ventricle. The pump was put in in April of 2014. It had become customary to have two people jump up to grab a replacement battery when we heard the beep of the LVAD machine that was strapped around his waist indicate a low battery.  He was still going to work almost everyday. Days were normal. In October, we'd received a similar message. This one was from Bill himself asking if Jordan and I could run by the house, get some things, and meet him at the hospital because he was being admitted. That one wasn't for a new heart, just a malfunction in the LVAD. So when this message from my mom came, I wasn't sure what kind of surgery was going to occur in the next 24-hours.

I called my little brother, who sounded more alert than ever. He said they were getting Bill's things together and waiting on Mom to get home from work. This was it. They had a heart. It was just a normal day that had gone wild with no prior indication of its ending.

Jordan and I finished our meal, drove home, packed bags full of toiletries and board games (just in case), and headed south to Vandy.  When we got there, the family was using the waiting room for its intended purpose, and didn't have any answers for what was about to happen. This wasn't a normal day, and we had no idea what it held.

--

"HE'S GOT A NEW HEART!"

That was the yell that came out of Evan's mouth drowned out slightly by tears of joy when my mom hung up the phone for the at final surgery update call. After what was the longest 28 hours of our lives, William Speight Thomas, Jr. successfully received a heart transplant on Tuesday, July 21, 2015.

That day, that week, was a whirlwind of emotions, and lessons, that were carefully guided by the Hand of our Father.  The surgery in itself was a miracle. The doctors quite literally ripped his heart out. And he was alive to tell the story. We had many sleepless nights as he slowly, but surely, progressed. There were times we were scared, times we were joyful, times when Mom was so bored that she held his hand while playing Candy Crush on his stomach on the iPad. We had a routine that week. I'd stay with my mom at night, and then around 9-10 a.m., everyone else would show back up from their various places of staying with coffee, breakfast, and quiet voices. We made jokes about what sarcastic, outspoken Bill had to be thinking while he couldn't talk on the ventilator. They had set our expectations that this surgery would be easier than the LVAD surgery. Bill was walking the halls of the Cardiovascular Intensive Care Unit 30 hours after that surgery. Three days after the transplant, he was deliriously unresponsive to commands with a tube still breathing for him. Our expectations were rocked.

I thought a lot that week about life in this fleshly body. I thought a lot about family and community as people poured in the room to pray with us, bring us food, just sit with us. I thought a lot about diseased heart, and what it truly takes to make it clean.

I've been in one of the weirdest seasons of my life. Just read my last few posts. I feel like I'm constantly grasping for a lesson, and the Lord is faithful to always put one right in my face.

I drink everything through a straw. I mean everything...water, soda, orange juice, coffee, everything. At my house, the straws are currently located on the third shelf of the cabinet closest to the fridge right about the cups. You would think that is conveniently located. However, the box is laying on a bag of smoothie straws (yes, we do own multiple varieties), which makes it almost fall out every time. It is also slightly above my reach. Meaning every time I go to grab a straw to sip something delicious from my precious Mason Jar tumblers, I literally grasp at straws. On the toes, fingers extended, sometimes on the counter, reaching for whatever I can get. While I'm struggling, I think to myself, "Maybe I should find a new place for these." But then, distracted by the desire to get whatever I've poured in my cup into my mouth as quickly as possible, I shut the door and move on, only to be met by a Jenga game of straws each time it reopens. That's how I feel my lessons have gone lately. I see the solution, I know the answer, I feel the lesson, but I close the door and move on.

That day wasn't any different.

Over the next few days, I'm going to document those lessons. Because I don't want to make sit back and close the door once again. I don't want to put the God that constantly surrounds me with protection and faithfully is the bold, consistent Teacher that I need on the third shelf just to close the door. I want Him prominently and easily accessible to continue molding my heart.

May distractions no longer take my focus. May it not take life shattering events such as this for me to recognize His presence. May my experiences always lead me to His providence. May my heart beat for Him alone.

Stay tuned.