Sunday, January 1, 2012

eva.

I stared at her through the gentle tears that were welling in my eyes. It was one of those moments I knew I must remember because it was special...somehow sacred. My cousin, the little one with the blue eyes and golden wheat hair, was whimpering and wincing in pain. It was the night before our journey through the sky back home; leaving as the new year came. Eva was lying on the bed asking for a back massage of sorts, when someone pressed her neck wrong. That's all it took to send her crying in paralyzing pain. I knew her muscles were weak and didn't hold her back in alignment properly, amongst other health ailments, but she had not encountered a "serious" injury since we arrived. I can still hear her voice through her whimpers and Corrie's explanation of her particular syndrome: "Basically...I'm fragile." Images of bubble wrap and gingerly pasted "handle-with-care" labels flashed thru my mind and all I wanted to do was hug and cradle her. After her brave attempts to keep us from worrying, to comfort her sorrowful sister, to discount her tears and the pain, and to not want to bother her mom at grandma's house (who would, according to her, "only cry"), I knew I was honored to witness this girl...this remarkable girl with the fragile body and strong heart. We carefully got her into bed, with her neck brace, and she restlessly attempted to find the best position. After ice...pillows...props for her knees...prayers..."brow-strokings"...cds...she told us how she felt like a queen. I informed her that her neck brace was once the fashion of the English queens of old, with a little more "neck frill." She laughed...and then cried because she laughed. Finally, we heard her uneven darling little sleep breathing.

Never have I met a girl quite like my Eva. Sacrificial, tender hearted and gentle, loving and gracious, joyful through adversity...the strongest of hearts. Although her body is frail, her character and heart is strong, because it seeks refuge and trusts in the One who fashioned it. Her adoration for Jesus has, thus far, shielded her from insecurities and discontentment that could foster bitterness and ingratitude. She understands in her weakness He is strong, and does not consider her ailment an excuse for entitlement. All is grace. Oh how the enemy would love to break and sprain her heart, the way the curse of sin has sprained her body. How he seeks to disable her trust and thwart her joy by turning her eyes to the "world" language...the language we see. It doesn't make sense that God would work through the small, foolish, broken, weakest...and the moment we think He can't, we've succumbed. His promises are inherited by those who rely on His strength, not their own...who truly believe He alone is sufficient and the fulfillment of life. That very evening she was telling me about another situation in which her plans fell thru, and she stated "You know what Andrea? I was really really sad...but then I was just reminded that all I need is Jesus." All I need is Jesus. She has learnt the key to contentment, the key to saving grace...the key to life. Cling to it, darling.

I will miss her. I will miss waking up to her in the next bed over telling me about living on the ranch in Montana, different horse breeds (I am completely inept upon that subject), saving babies, and Jesus. I will miss cozying up to books on tape and "awweing..." and sniffling at the same parts. I will miss practicing British accents with her and giving her hugs. This 22 year old soul could learn more of the language of the giggle-wimperer. The truster. The humble one.