It's amazing how different life was just a few months ago; what we didn't know was ahead of us. Why anyone would want to know the future is beyond me. Today is enough. At different times our kids have had big things in their lives, and they'd say something to the effect that they wished they knew what was up ahead. My pat answer for that - God gives us manna for today. When the Israelites were stuck in the desert, He gave them manna enough for that one day. They couldn't try to gather enough for tomorrow or it would turn to maggots. Only at the end of the week could they gather for their day of rest. Sort of like thawing and cooking Sunday's pot roast Saturday night. I've told our kids, He gives us manna for today because He wants us to live life one day at a time. He'll be there tomorrow, providing manna for tomorrow.

I'm thankful 5 months ago we didn't know what all was ahead of us. Heck, I'm thankful 35 years ago I didn't know what was ahead! Five months ago we thought Sarah wasn't looking very big for being at the end of her pregnancy. She's not very big anyway, but she still looked small for a woman about to bring forth a child. Little did we know what that tiny tummy held, literally.

The night before she was to have surgery I rocked this grandchild in my arms. In a quiet corner of the house I laid my hand on her little chest, and prayed over her in whispery tones, "God, I know you're going to fix this little heart. She'll be good as new when you're done. I'm trusting you for that." I knew the next time I saw her there would be a scar, a testimony to answered prayer, not just mine. Thousands. Literally. (If you were one who prayed, thank you from the bottom of my heart.)

Yesterday I visited Miss Addison at the hospital, with Sarah and Chris' two boys, an aunt and uncle, and a few friends thrown in for good measure. Seeing that precious little baby lying there in her little bed, an impressive incision, but only a few tubes and wires left, I can't tell you the feeling that washed over me. When Sarah phoned me 3 months ago from the hospital, Addison was 4 days old and they'd just been told she had a hole in her heart. I started to fall apart a bit, and Sarah told me, "Mother, (a name she uses for me when she's very serious) dry it up. If you fall apart I'll fall apart and I don't have the luxury of falling apart right now." With just a small exception last week when my sewing group of friends prayed over me and reduced me to a blubbery mess, I've held it together, kept it dried up, almost to a fault. Honestly, I've been afraid to let go for fear I'd wash away some small town in the valley below.

Leaning over that little crib, Addison locked eyes with me. She was alert, her coloring was good. I held out my one finger for her little hand to grab, and said, as I do to all our grandbabies, "Wanna hold hands?" She held onto my hand, and then she looked right into my eyes and smiled. Cooed just a bit and smiled.

I don't think anybody saw, except Addison. I melted. I blubbered quietly. I fell apart - just a little.

Addison should come home today. I don't know if there will be any actual festivities, but we'll be holding a party in our hearts at least. Sarah and Chris will leave the hospital with a heart, broken, for parents still there. They will walk through the doors of their home a very different couple than they were only a few months ago. My husband and I have said several times there's no telling how having Addison in our family will change us all. For the better we hope and literally pray. I don't know what the future holds. I don't want to know. I'm completely full on the manna for today.