In Case You Look Up

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

And according to Dan Santat, the author of my favorite children’s book, the best part of the story comes “After the Fall”.

After the fall.

In this tiny, beautiful story, Humpty recovers but returns to his normal life feeling a little broken.

Life is hard now.

He is afraid.

He doesn’t even sit on the wall anymore.

He used to love it up there.

Used to.

One day he gathers all of his courage and creates an intricate paper airplane to launch from the wall.

He climbs the ladder despite his fears.

And when he gets to the top, he turns into a bird.

He learned to fly.

Four years ago today Jake and I fell.

Stage Four Hodgkin Lymphoma.

Every other Thursday for the next 6 months we walked into the cancer clinic in St. George for intense chemotherapy.

A favorite teacher gave me a copy of Humpty Dumpty’s story.

Each bird in the sky and a little plaque on our fireplace reminded us we were,

“Learning to Fly”.

Every other Thursday we parked in the same parking lot and sat in the same waiting room and spent the same hours in the same infusion clinic.

We walked past the same statue out front.

We walked past it every other week, but I never stopped for a closer look.

A handful of weeks ago I came across a picture of the statue.

I recognized it from the quick glances I gave it every other Thursday.

I looked a little closer this time.

It was a statue created by a local artist named Jason Millward.

The piece was for sale and happened to be on display in front of the St. George Intermountain Cancer Clinic.

The bronze statue of a mother swinging her daughter through the air was called, “Learning to Fly”.

Learning to Fly.

The plaque reads,

“Teaching our children how to soar above the norm and achieve their fullest potential”.

Learning to Fly.

It was there the whole time.

Just in case I looked up.

It was four years ago but sometimes it still feels like yesterday.

The miracles of those months are still fresh in my mind and heart.

They haven’t ceased either.

Not a day goes by that I don’t think about it.

I think about Jake.

About us.

I think about Jesus and how close He was.

In the details of it all.

Even now.

Even years later I see His fingerprints.

An artist, an author, a teacher,

inspired to put a book, a statue, evidence of God’s love,

right where I could see it.

In case I looked up.

We took a trip to St. George.

We added our lock to a gate to represent our little story.

To remember.

And then we took Hank to a bronze statue.

We pointed out the birds in the sky.

We told stories about a God who sees.

Who we can see if we look up.

We’re teaching him to fly.

But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint. (Isaiah 40:31)

Learning to Fly.

Things are beautiful from up here.

Even this is a happy anniversary.