(25 seconds)

Since I last wrote I have celebrated Christmas.

Taken 150+ ornaments down from the ceiling at work.

I prepared to surprise the girls in Roanoke by attending a party that Kait was throwing.

I was also getting things together for Matt and Seth to arrive in Winston later that same weekend.

The Lord. However, had some tricks up his sleeves.

When I got into my car on the way home to Roanoke, I saw two voicemail messages. The first, Matty. The second, Seth. How strange two years later can feel like. I listened to Matt explain that he was being admitted to UVA. I calmly noted his lack of panic, and put myself in line with his tone. Then I listened to Seth. Which in hindsight sort of makes me laugh now, but at the time, all I could think of was how thankful I was that I heard Matt's message first.

I called them both back, and had good conversations. Obviously with Matt being admitted into the hospital, that meant he wasn't coming. Seth and I talked through viable options for our reunion- and settled in the end to leave things as they were. I was going to see Matty the next day, and had to return home to work- before his scheduled visit to me.

I sat quietly in the car for awhile. I called my brother and told him. I called Mandy to make sure she had heard from Matt. I texted a couple of people. I felt settled that I had done what I should, knowing that we didn't know much. I debated and thought about another phone call or two. Not quite sure.

Memories began to flood of a 25 second phone call I received a very hot August day from Tex, while I was hanging out in Roanoke. I remember everything about it. I remember I was standing outside Barnes and Noble. That I didn't cry. Not a tear. I remember I called my mother immediately after, and asked her to communicate with the family what was happening. I remember sitting in the backseat of Tex's car, as he picked me up to drive to the Hospital together with the Lexington crew. I remember the phone call coming in saying that Matt had made it to Roanoke on the helicopter. I remember the pause before I knew he had arrived safely that I thought he had died. It was a heavy. Long. Tormented pause.

I also remember all of the things I thought about in the car. I thought about meeting Matt in 2003 and how much of my life in Virginia was changed when we became friends. I scanned through thousands of images and memories with this friend, and I held onto one thing in my conversation with Christ, "I'm not ready."

A pained and traumatic moment came when his beloved parents arrived from Harrisonburg. Tex and I followed Fetzer downstairs so that he could park their car. Carol approached me weeping and asked if he was alive. Was Matthew alive? I crumbled. I said yes, and she collapsed into my arms. I have never in my life experienced something like that. Never. The day brought light and hope that Matt was going to recover, he was going to be ok. The trauma then would take an emotional and mental toll. The physical was being healed. Monitored.

That first night I sat quietly in a corner of the hospital. Deep and dark in thought. Finally able to begin the process of peeling back the layers of the day. I remember sitting there. I remember having fixated on a light coming from a building down below on the street.

One way that Chad loved Tex and I incredibly well was that, he drove all of our friends home. Tex and I left that night and drove to Sonic- neither of us having eaten anything in hours. We sat and we talked. And cried. And stared out into the night.

Nothing in my life was quiet the same after that night. It was the beginning of a really, truly, dark and tormented year. Two months later Tex moved to Oregon. And despite the visits I took to him there, I wasn't yet strong enough to handle all that those visits would entail. My family life fell apart, and I consequently found- the bottom. A dark, twisted, difficult and hard place. Yet somehow, in the midst of orphans in China, I was able to come back up. I came back up for air.

Life since then has been a wonderfully poignant and profound journey forward. At times I admit I fought it, and battled against what would come, what needed to happen, or what I felt should- because I deemed it more uncertain and terrifying then that which I was already entrenched. However, the Lord kept His promises- as always. And I was continue to be tenderly healed from a broken heart in light of so many difficult circumstances.

Walking into UVA last week. I was thankful that a)there had been no trauma that discovered the infection for Matt. and b) he was not in Roanoke, but in a new and different hospital. I led with humor and lightness walking into Matty's hospital room, after having a tough moment alone in the elevator with my thoughts. "Seriously?" we laughed. I spent a few hours there, and then when he went in for testing, Carol walked me downstairs.

We stood and shared. Hindsight. Concerns. Memories. She noted how hard things had been after the cardiac arrest- in my life. She spoke of it with tenderness. I responded with transparency- "I didn't realize that, was when- it started to spiral out of control." We talked about how different we all are now. Different parts of the country. Her grand babies. Perspective and caution. And sometimes fear. One thing I noted was just how much more accepting I was of the path. The journey. I was thankful I could spend the short time with Carol in a hospital hallway able to acknowledge the differences between now and then.

The biggest and most tenderhearted thing I realized in the car on my way to Roanoke Thursday night was, and well on my way to UVA the next morning was never, never, thought or spoke, "I'm not ready." I think I could hear the angels in Heaven when I noticed that statement had never been considered.

I'm never going to be ready. But that is not the source of that statement.

The source and meaning behind it, is that: I love Jesus. Totally and entirely with every part that my sinful self will allow. I trust Him. I trust that He loves Matt, has a whole plan and purpose for Matt. I believe and know that Matt loves Jesus. We are all covered in more Grace then we could possibly every comprehend. I don't need to ready myself to lose Matt, or lose anyone. I have to continue to prepare and assert my heart to Christ the Father to do His thing- and I will trust it.

I love Matt more then I could ever explain to another human being. It's pure. It's familial.

We have been friends a long. long. time. Our friendship has survived where others have not.

He is in my future. Forever.

I know that I love my siblings that same way.

There's nothing I wouldn't do for Matty. Nothing. Even if it meant giving him my own heart.

The blessing is that, when you love someone that much, and that way- and you know Jesus.

You know.

It's all going to work out according to His plan and purpose.

So I have somehow learned in the 2 1/2 years between hospital stays that I am invited into this friendship with Matt here on earth, but that the real party is in Heaven. I can't control if, how, or when. I can only trust in Jesus to ease my concerns, my anxieties, to be my source of strength. And Love Jesus enough to accept whatever hurt may come to walk confidently in the direction of the unknown- to be vulnerable with in my hurts. Because. Life. Just hurts sometimes- and to celebrate the gifts of friendship he has given to me here. in the now.

There is joy.

Wonderful. Bright. Joy.

Thankful to know that more today then I did yesterday- but mostly for being able to walk into a hospital on my own.

Strong enough. Prepared. Able.

Not needing a single hand on my back to lead the way.

I can.

We can.

I am.

We are.

Living with joy and hope in Jesus.

Life is good. Better. Then I thought possible even in the beginning of a very hard year, that began: two and a half years ago with a single 25 second phone call.