For four days in May, Mom vanished. The boys lost their teacher, my daughter lost her "best friend," and my toddler just couldn't find his mommy. With no contingency plan in place, we didn't know what to do - and the pain was so excruciating I hardly cared. After days of no relief, I even suggested to God that He simply take me Home - and not back to the white house with green shutters and a picket fence.

Even though I know what I believe, it was nearly impossible to follow the Apostle Paul in  "delighting in weaknesses ... in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong." (2 Cor. 12: 10) Oh, how weak I was.

As I lay in the hospital bed, unable to eat and barely able to sleep or find any comfort, I found it challenging to "rejoice in the Lord always." (Phil. 4:4) I felt like a spiritual sluggard, but rationalized that I wouldn't so much mind hanging out in a hospital being pumped full of mind-numbing medicine if it were not for the four children left behind.

Whenever I was awake I wondered what God was trying to teach me. More patience, perhaps? It is obviously not a lesson I've learned easily or quickly. While I'm still unsure of all the lessons He wanted me to learn, it is apparent I didn't learn it all the first time around.

Six weeks later, I found myself back in the exact same place - this time for seven days. What amazes me still is the incredible compassion and efficiency of the Body of Christ in action. Everyone around me - dear friends and people I hardly know - exercised their gifts so beautifully that I never had a reason to worry about my family.

Homeschool friends have taught my sons Spanish, shuttled them to activities, and fed my whole family. Women from church have brought dinner after delicious, home-cooked dinner. My pastor and a devoted sister in the Lord were brave enough to venture into my hospital room, offering prayers and a healing touch. Friends and relatives took days off of work or sacrificed hours of their own time to make sure my children flourished while Mom was away.