I hear snippets of a phone call.

"Butterworth ER . . . on a backboard . . . neck brace . . . I don't know . . ."

The siblings gather in the kitchen. Their faces worry.

I start to pray but don't get too far before tears come out of nowhere and emotion chokes words. I am supposed to be strong, keep it together as the older sister. I am supposed to be brave, calm, trusting. Maybe I am, but this hits close to home, cuts down deep to wounds from past trauma.

Memories . . . eleven years ago, eleven years old.

I pray this time she is okay.

When he calls later, it is encouraging news. It is relief. It is God answering prayers. Thank You.

But my heart is still queasy. Sometimes it doesn't take much to rattle it.

It is fragile.

One of the neon Post-It notes stuck to the nightstand beside my bed catches my eye . . .
And the Lord, He is the One who goes before you. He will be with you, He will not leave you nor forsake you; do not fear nor be dismayed.
      ~ Deuteronomy 31:8

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