The day had been rough thus far. I barely managed to get the big 3 kids to school with clothes on their backs. Finley had barely slept that night, which meant I had barely slept. Thank sweet Jesus for coffee. 

Getting Finley out of bed, dressing her, brushing her teeth, and getting her leg braces, belly binder, hand splints and doing her hair…Quick hair tangent…her beautiful hair that has to be de-tangled every morning  from hours of rocking her head back and forth at night. Her hair that I keep long because it is an easy way for people to connect with her, anything to help ease the understandable nerves of talking to someone with special needs. Her hair in many ways is a bridge. I could write a whole chapter just on her hair alone-ha! 

Anyway-long story long it takes anywhere from 30 min to an hour depending on how cooperative she might be. And this particular morning she was far from it!

She cried the entire time I was getting her ready. Cried all the 30 min drive to therapy. Cried going into the clinic until we got to the fish tank where she promptly stopped crying and said  “Hi.” To the fish (She has about 4 words that she says verbally:Hi, yay, yeah and “ma” which could be absolutely anything. The child wakes up saying “Ma”. I wish it was “mama” but it’s totally not) 

Therapy went great, but Finley decided I had not had enough crying in my life that day so she proceeded to cry the entire way home. I could feel myself slipping into despair and fast. 

I parked and thanked Jesus for our handicapped parking spot right outside of our miracle home-two bright lights in my life even on the darkest days. 

It was raining so I barely noticed my neighbor Grace walking by as I tried to get Finley out of the van. 

“Hi, Heather,” she called.

“Oh hi, Grace.”

 I turned around to smile at her and briefly felt my mouth drop open. She was walking in the rain, carrying four bags of groceries and holding an umbrella. My mind flashed to the first time I met her. She spoke very broken English and she only had on one shoe…in February in Chicago. I had run out to see if I could help her and she refused communicating she was on her way to see a friend who had some shoes for her. She was smiling the first time I met her and she stood before me, bearing groceries in the pouring rain, smiling.

“Can I help you?” 

“No, my friend, I am almost home. Are you doing ok?”

“I am ok.” I could not bare to tell her about my morning, at least I had stayed mostly dry. 

“Heather, by the grace of God we will make it bit by bit.” 

As the words rolled off her tongue, carried by her beautiful accent, my heart softened. My breath caught in my throat. Words of truth plunged into my heart like the rain was plunging into my hair and clothes. The tension built in my shoulders, chest and stomach from hours of a crying four year old melted away. 

Truth sets us free. 

“Thank you, Grace.” 

Matt and I say it to one another nearly everyday now.

By the grace of God, we will make it, bit by bit.