So many people have responded with kind words and prayers for my son and our family on Facebook, through email, my blog, and Twitter that I sensed that I needed to follow up on what’s what in the Huebert house of havoc.

Watching Noah writhe through pulsating shards of electric pain yesterday wrecked me. Listening to him ask, “Why?” for perhaps the first time in his life as the inherent unfairness and ambiguity of a fallen world crashed in on him wasn’t any easier. It’s relatively easy to admit that I can’t take away his physical pain; it’s harder to be honest about the emotional pain he’s going through, to admit that there are no easy answers for the “WHY?” question. For the first time in his life, he’s had to face the darkness of a ruined world head on, and it would be cruel of me in the long run to pretend the arrows that have pierced him are duller than they really are.

I told him yesterday that God did have a purpose for all of this, not just for us, or me, but for HIM. I also said that you didn’t usually have the luxury of knowing what that purpose was as you’re trudging through a valley. It usually comes in hindsight.

Well… sometimes it also comes in midsight.

Because the outpouring of compassion, kindness, concern, prayer, cupcakes, and visits on Noah’s life during the past twenty four hours has been incredible to say the least. I pointed out that he must be pretty special guy.

“I think I know why God allowed this to happen,” Noah finally said last night (albeit through a Codeine high). “I got to see how much people love me.”

Think about that for a minute: How many twelve year old kids get to experience this kind of lavish affection and care under normal circumstances? Crisis has an uncanny ability to wring water from stone, or even wring full-on appreciation from pubescent, self-centred boys who only seem to get along half the time (Noah is one of them; I’m just saying). 🙂

Here I was thinking about what lousy timing this was: A debilitating injury right at a pivotal time of life when he needs to be active and engaged. Testing his ability. Learning his strength.

“Actually,” God seems to be saying, “the most important thing Noah needs at this moment in time is to know he’s special, that he’s loved, that he’s part of a community who admires and cares for him.”

Who knew that a spiral fracture could be the elegant wrapping adorning such a sacred gift?

I wonder if God winks?