Even after all this time
the sun never says to the earth
“You owe me.”
Look what happens with
a love like that
it lights the whole sky
I have a theory about the end of this life.
I think we will finally see it.
I think we will finally feel it.
I think we will stare straight into the face of love.
Its incredible beauty will be fully realized and the hand that created it will be revealed.
I think we will be unable to speak.
I think we will begin to forget.
I think we will hear music as we’ve never heard it.
I think we will see colors as we’ve never seen them.
I think love’s warmth will wash through us like a gentle flood, healing every sense of physical and emotional pain.
When we come face-to-face with love, I think we will realize that we spend way too much time debating what we cannot see and far too little time in awe of what we can.
Recently I met a woman who has a head start on all of this.
Kay is the mother of a 15-year old special needs girl. Immediately after Taylor was born, Kay and her husband learned that their daughter has Rubinstein-Taybi syndrome, an extremely rare genetic disease. Kay had five minutes with her daughter before doctors took her away. Five minutes for her to stare into the face of love. Five minutes for her to tell God, “Take her now if you need her, but if you let her stay I will love her and I will fight for her.”
No one knew if Taylor would make it through a day. No one knew whether she would ever walk or talk. Could she learn? What will her future be like? Should she be institutionalized? There will be numerous surgeries and therapy. What about the massive medical bills? Kay felt every emotion possible, including anger with God. She admits she questioned her faith.
Remember the Bible story about the paralyzed man whose four friends lowered him through the roof of the jam-packed house where Jesus was teaching? When Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralyzed man, “Your sins are forgiven. Get up, take your mat and go home.”
At one time, when Kay read that story, she naturally inserted her daughter in place of that man. One breath from God is all it would take for her daughter to be healed. Today, fifteen years after Taylor’s birth, fifteen years of loving and being loved by this special girl, everything is different. “Now when I read that Bible story, I realize that it’s not Taylor who was paralyzed, it was me,” said Kay, her voice cracking with emotion.
Kay had the chance to visit Sierra Leon on a mission trip. It was there, while walking though a small village, that she realized that her daughter “would not have lived a day in this place.” In Africa she saw hundreds of people, many in wheelchairs and on crutches; the poor, the sick, begging for anything. More than ever, she saw that her daughter is a gift. More than that, she saw that she’s privileged. Taylor has doctors, teachers, therapists, friends, family, people to help her walk and talk; the opportunity to learn and be trained. Her beautiful daughter never has to stand on a street corner and beg.
“Because God loves me so much, He gave me someone to love so much.”
Kay’s face changes when she talks about Taylor. She realizes now that God hands out five minutes every day. Five minutes to hold a child. Five minutes to be Taylor’s mom. Five minutes for her to learn to walk and talk. Five minutes to love. Five minutes.
Taylor melts the heart of everyone who comes in contact with her. Look closely at her forehead. Her birthmark is the perfect shape and color of a heart; the very symbol of love. “Every time I see that mark it’s a reminder that God gave me Taylor,” says Kay. “God set me free. I am no longer paralyzed because she was born. I am blessed because she lives.”
Think about the five minutes God gives you. It’s your chance to stare into the face of love—love that can light the whole sky.