Didn't sign up for this.

“If we focus on the outcome, we may be disappointed. The moments along the way hold tremendous value. Those moments hold people when they have nothing left to give. They whisper, sometimes scream Truth when people need it most. They empower us to keep going when it feels like it is not worth it. It is worth it; people are always worth it. 

I don’t love hospitals. I will go to great lengths to avoid visiting people in them. It was nearly 6 years ago that I walked into St. Mary’s with a pit in my stomach. I knew what I was walking into was going to be next to near impossible - and yet, I was present. Present for myself, present for Eve, but mostly present for her two daughters. As I entered the waiting room, I saw family members sprinkled about the room, all with the same somber look on their faces. I walked over and hugged each girl, holding on, attempting to be strong - but feeling the weight of my own weakness. Were the subsequent moments going to be ones that haunted me? Changed me - for the better or for worse? Was my presence helpful? Or would I just become one more person who needed comfort no human being could offer. I checked myself in at the desk, waited for the door to open, and walked down the solemn hallway to her room. I knocked and announced my entrance, even though the pit in my stomach reminded me there would be no response. 

As I opened the door. I gasped. I held onto the nearby chair, hoping it could catch me if my feet gave out like the wind in my lungs. I surveyed the room. It was quiet. Too quiet. I wanted Eve to wake from her slumber and proclaim “Sis” and tell me what I was supposed to do. Somehow this moment didn’t fit into any of the number of conversations we had had. I eventually made my way to her side. I held her limp hand, and I wept. At that moment the reality of the situation came crashing down. I realized I wouldn’t hear her voice again, watch her smile light up a room, or celebrate any other mile markers - because this was near the end of her earthside story. I still can’t wrap my brain around the texts we had exchanged just 48 hours before. She had planned to attend our annual fundraiser event for Hope Street, and she had picked out an outfit for my 30th birthday celebration just two weeks after that. Life halted at that moment, and all I wanted to do was go back. I knew forward didn’t include Eve, and I was not ready to imagine a life without her. One where her daughters were left without their mama, and one where my friend was unreachable. The next hours and days were a blur. I cried until there were no tears left. The moment we unplugged the machines keeping her alive left me numb. I was so angry. Devastated. 

I haven’t written about this part of the story. In many ways it is too painful to recall. Even now my face is tear stained, and my heart aches. I wish this story ended differently. I wish the miracle I begged the Father for came to fruition. Yet, the reality is - I left that hospital without my friend. 

I spent the next days and weeks going through the motions. I wrestled with what I knew to be true. I looked around at the faces of loved ones, and wondered who I would lose next. I withdrew - because I was terrified of getting too close to someone and then feared having to say goodbye. I was often met with grace. People sat with me. Listened. Cried. And eventually laughter healed the parts of me that I thought were hardened. I was reminded of my purpose, and I acknowledged grief would continue to hit me in waves.

I didn’t sign up for my heart to break. I can’t imagine anyone willingly entering into an agreement where that was the case. Yet, I did sign up to remind human beings of their value and worth. To sit with them through all that life threw their way, so in some ways I did sign up for it - I just didn’t like what I signed up for. Yet, even still…the spaces that people take up in our lives are worth it. Love is always worth it. Yes, it is incredibly painful at times, but it is also more beautiful than words can express. Life and death around Hope Street has remained the most difficult paradox to maneuver through - I don’t think I will ever be able to master it, but I also don’t think that is the point. The invitation that is continually extended is one in which says - will you allow your heart to break? Break for the good, break for the hard…the inevitable, the unthinkable - and each yes, allows you to remember all of it is worth it, because people are always worth it. 

So sign up for it. This thing called life, just don’t forget He never meant for you to do any of it alone. He will give you the grace you need to show up in the spaces, for the people He places in your path. 

You can read the rest of Eve’s story in chapter ten: Chef, Not Cook in Well Moments. You can purchase your copy here. To tune into this week’s podcast, and to hear more on the impact of children within Hope Street here.