{"id":1318,"date":"2014-03-22T16:33:25","date_gmt":"2014-03-22T16:33:25","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/kandynolesstevens.com\/?p=1318"},"modified":"2014-03-22T16:33:25","modified_gmt":"2014-03-22T16:33:25","slug":"a-ticket-to-the-dance","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.realsweetgrace.com\/blog\/?p=1318","title":{"rendered":"A ticket to the dance"},"content":{"rendered":"

Today\u2019s start was leisurely and peaceful \u2013 two words I would not use to describe most of my mornings.\u00a0 Our children were out of the house early to volunteer, giving my sweetie and I time to read the paper while the quiche with kale and red peppers was baking.\u00a0 What a delicious way to start the morning!\u00a0 We talked about the headlines: the loss of another business in our small town and the recognition of a friend\u2019s dad for forty years of service at the university.\u00a0 We lamented the former and celebrated the latter.\u00a0 Eventually, our talk turned to basketball.\u00a0 Not very surprising in our house as it is March Madness after all.\u00a0 My husband is a reluctant fan.\u00a0 He isn\u2019t glued to the results but always wants to see a good match-up.\u00a0\u00a0 I, however, watch the games with an eye discerning athleticism and a heart looking for a good story.<\/p>\n

Last Thursday was no exception.<\/p>\n

It was a busy afternoon for my taxi service, completing carpool duties and driving my own children to appointments.\u00a0 The entire ride all ears were riveted to the radio for a girls\u2019 basketball semifinal play-off game.\u00a0 They weren\u2019t from our school, but we wished and cheered, hoping they could pull ahead from a double digit deficit. As the game clock was slowly ticking away, my littlest and I continued on with errands. \u00a0The final minutes of the game unfolded. We sat in our van in the beautiful sun . . . outside of the mall.\u00a0 While she loves playing basketball, her interest started to wane,\u00a0as she plucked her latest book from her backpack.<\/p>\n

At one point, she looked up from her pages and tenderly said, \u201cMomma, are you crying?\u201d.<\/p>\n

I assured her worried heart that I was crying happy tears.\u00a0 When you are nine years old, happy tears are more than just a bit confusing.\u00a0 An oxymoron in its truest form.<\/p>\n

So overjoyed with emotion, my response was one that only muddied the waters more.<\/p>\n

For this child I prayed.<\/i><\/p>\n

The scrunched up nose and tangled eyebrows told me everything. She still didn\u2019t understand.<\/p>\n

Remember when we had the cancer game at sister\u2019s basketball.\u00a0 <\/i><\/p>\n

Quietly, a yes came forth.<\/p>\n

Do you remember whom sister chose to play for?<\/em><\/p>\n

\"basketball<\/a><\/p>\n

Another quiet acknowledgment.<\/p>\n

Not that long ago, she was very sick and she was fighting to get better.\u00a0 When she was so sick, mommy prayed.<\/em><\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t tell her how for\u00a0years after the bus crash, I suffered from night terrors.\u00a0 In those dark moments where silence clung in every crevice of the room, my nights were filled with every worst case scenario my terror-filled imagination could create.\u00a0 The horror of the immediate and the fear of what more could happen to our family, to my children, were my only thoughts.\u00a0 I was weary and tired.\u00a0 Anguish replaced peace-filled slumber.\u00a0 To drown out the silence, I created noise in my night time routine, until sleep would finally overtake my thoughts.\u00a0 When we heard about this sweet girl\u2019s diagnosis, my heart hurt for her family because I understood what it felt like to have a child hurt and suffering.\u00a0 We pray we hear of those hurting universally, but in this case, the hurt came knocking at our door . . . because she was one of \u201cour own\u201d.\u00a0 \u00a0As a friend of my children, I am a tiny part of her village.<\/p>\n

Rather than allowing my fears to consume me, I changed my night-time routine.\u00a0 Instead of filling my head with noise, I chose to flood heaven\u2019s gates with prayers.\u00a0 Whenever I could not sleep, I prayed for her.\u00a0 While she lay (hopefully) sleeping and fighting the cancer in her body, I prayed for just that \u2013 rest for her body, healing for her cells, and peace for her family.\u00a0 My own nights began to get better, as God and I settled into a routine.\u00a0 Fitful nights became less frequent for me, but when they did happen, I happily chose to pray for her.\u00a0 It brought me peace.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

In my edited version, I explained to my little girl that even though she wasn\u2019t part of our family, I had spent many, many hours praying for God to heal her.\u00a0 God doesn\u2019t always answer those prayers in the way we want, but this time, he did.<\/p>\n

The joy in her face was priceless . . . \u201cOh, I get it.\u00a0 You are crying because you are so happy for her and her team<\/strong><\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

Today, a girl I know, the one for whom I prayed, has a ticket to the dance \u2013 the state championship.\u00a0 Replacing glass slippers with basketball hi-tops, she along with the rest of her team will once again play, with heart and perseverance, hoping to come back as the victors.<\/p>\n

What she doesn\u2019t know is someone in the village has been praying for a Cinderella finish . . . for a very long time.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Today\u2019s start was leisurely and peaceful \u2013 two words I would not use to describe most of my mornings.\u00a0 Our children were out of the house early to volunteer, giving my sweetie and I time to read the paper while the quiche with kale and red peppers was baking.\u00a0 What a delicious way to start […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[2],"tags":[793,752,93,912,312,371,513,923,924,613,925,926],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.realsweetgrace.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1318"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.realsweetgrace.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.realsweetgrace.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.realsweetgrace.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.realsweetgrace.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1318"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/www.realsweetgrace.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1318\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.realsweetgrace.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1318"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.realsweetgrace.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1318"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.realsweetgrace.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1318"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}