Sometimes there are so many things to post about that I just end up not posting.

Sometimes there are so many things to post about that I just end up not posting.

Because I can't cover them all in one coherent set of paragraphs.

Okay, here's one. My friend's baby (not Natalie, but the sweet baby Evan) was really, critically ill last week. Sick like rushed to the hospital sick. Seizures sick. Paralysis sick. Bleeding in the brain sick. Viral Encephalitis sick. 75% fatality sick.

She, miraculously, got better. Much of it can be chalked up to a mother's instinct knowing something was wrong, but I can't help believing that there's some design here. There's a reason a mother was alarmed when her three week old baby wouldn't nurse right or wouldn't fully arouse from sleep, things that could be seen as just flu or bug things, or perhaps even just normal newborn finickitiness. There's a reason they were on the way to the ER already when she had her first seizure. There's a reason she had the right doctors at the right times doing the right tests and giving her the right medications.

Sweet baby Evan is on her way home this afternoon. She's not better yet, but is well on the way. She's regaining movement and strength in her right side.

Today I feel a little bit like Hannah in last night's episode of Everwood, NOT THAT I WATCH THAT SHOW OR ANYTHING. I remember thinking that I hadn't heard anything about Evan in a week or so, and thinking about how it would be really, really tough for me to be happy with God if Evan didn't survive. Without really being conscious of it, I pretty much struck a deal with God. Like, an "if X happens, then you're on thin ice, God" deal. I've never had a thought like that. Even knowing relatively young people who were on their death beds, I always had something of a sense of calm about me, knowing that God had things in mind for these people and blah blah blah, something about it being "their time" blah blah blah. Not with Evan. Not with a three week old baby.

So, WB-Drama-Hannah's dad was sick with a genetic disorder. As a little girl, she prayed to God to make him better and if so she'd eat her vegetables. She realized that even though her dad did not get better, she was saved from inheriting the disease, and she thinks that was how God helped her. So, she felt totally indebted to God, like she needed to do something (other than eating a decade's worth of vegetables). Some wise and cute geeky boy told her that just by being herself, her perfect self, was thanks enough for God. Then they decided to go on a date and had some cute and snorty nervous geek laughter.

I don't know what to do. I feel a little sheepish, having threatened God and what have you. I'm already eating plenty of vegetables, so I can't exactly do that. I just have to be myself and be thankful.

Fruit, though. I don't eat enough fruit. Yes, that's what I can do.