Confetti 🎉

Saturday was Celebration Saturday for Upward, 

And as Upward tradition they threw confetti and the words “Now Let’s Celebrate” 

The gym was loud.

Kids were cheering.

Awards were handed out.

The Song Celebrate was playing 

And when the confetti cannons went off, | just stood there.

Staring.

Smiling.

Crying.

Not because I was sad.

Not because I was triggered.

Because four years ago, I didn’t know if we would ever get this.

Four years ago, we were in hospital rooms.

Learning words like choroid plexus carcinoma.

Counting surgeries.

Praying over scans.

Wondering if we would ever see “normal” again.

The last time confetti fell around Hudson, it was at his No More Chemo party.

Where all his people celebrate the end of treatment 

Where we celebrated going home.

That confetti meant survival.

It meant surgeries.

It meant chemo

It meant St. Jude.

It meant facing something no one should have to face

It meant faith when we didn’t have answers.

So yesterday, standing in a church gym watching him celebrate basketball, my heart couldn’t quite hold it all.

Because this 

this loud, ordinary, beautiful Saturday – is something I once begged God for.

We celebrate normal 

And when I looked at Penelopi.

His sister.

His built-in best friend.

The sibling who has grown up in hospital hallways and church gyms.

Four years ago, I didn’t know if she would get to grow up with her brother beside her. 

Saturday, they each stood under falling confetti.

I didn’t move.

I didn’t leave.

I just let it fall around us.

Confetti isn’t just paper in our story.

It’s proof.

Proof that God restores.

Proof that survival can turn into Saturdays.

Proof that the prayers whispered in hospitals rooms don’t disappear 

They echo.

“The Lord has done great things for us, and we are filled with joy.”

– Psalm 126:3

Confetti isn’t just celebration in our story.

It’s what answered prayers look like!

And Saturday, I got to stand inside one.