Truth.

This weekend I attended my first major league soccer game. Box seats. Free soda. Field passes. The whole nine yards.

I had no idea what was going on, at any point in the game, for the entire night. But I sang, "Ole, ole, ole, ole..." with the best of them and screamed things like "Sissy!" to save face.

Despite my obvious ignorance when it comes to soccer (or any other sport), it was actually fun. I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

During half-time, my husband and I ventured outside the comfort of our plush box to visit the common folk below. Poor people, cramped together like sardines, sweaty people to their right, obnoxious fans to their left, and left without chips. Or salsa. Or free soda. My heart truly ached for them.

My husband's sister waited for us below. After the initial hugs, she slipped us a small scrap of paper.

It was black. And white. And glossy.

It was an ultrasound.

And there were two babies. Twins.

I stared at the tiny photos, my eyes wet with emotion, and felt speechless. Not because I was surprised. Or shocked. Or excited. Or sympathetic thinking about her nursing twins. Or jealous at the extra calories she could now write off. I felt all of those things, but something greater stole my breath. Gripped my heart. Tightened my throat.

A year ago, my sister-in-law battled through chemotherapy. (With a husband in school and an active three year old boy.) She struggled. She prayed. She fought.

And she won.

Now here she stood, next to us, sharing her intimate joy amidst a crowded stadium. Her eyes beamed as the news spilled from her happy face. The surrounding noise faded as she spoke. All I could hear was her voice, and my heart. It was pounding. With truth.

In that moment, truth had left me speechless. Truth that God lives. And in that moment, I felt it stronger than I had in a very long time.

My hands clutched the photo. I stared at the two babies, growing inside her, thriving. Living. Breathing. And I felt overwhelmed with love. From God. He knows her. He took care of her. And after all she's been through, the loss, the sorrow, the disappointment, the pain, He had given her new life. New beginnings. New joy. New hope.

I'm continually surprised by the miracles that surround me, by the whisperings from my Heavenly Father that draw me nearer. To Him. A child's forgiveness, so quick, and so pure. Kind words spoken to an aching heart. Love, unconditional, from a devoted spouse. Sage advice from an older sister. A private moment with a knowing mother, who sees into your soul and offers her tender arms. A newborn child, heavy upon your chest, her heart softly beating upon yours. A second chance at motherhood. A first chance at everything. The sweetness of life. Of family. Of parenthood. Sisterhood. Brotherhood. Of struggling through mortality, clinging to faith, despite the inevitable doubt that (in my case) constantly chips away at truth.

And it is truth. That He lives. I know He does.

Because in the quiet depths of my heart, beneath incertitude, beyond doubt and above fear, I hear His voice. I feel His love. And He knows me. And you. And my beloved sister-in-law.

His merciful arms are outstretched. And waiting.

And this is what left me speechless. In the stadium. Surrounded by common folk without box seats.

Truth.

The End.