Today was appropriately a gray, rainy day. It's as if the whole world was grieving.
Two days ago, I drove to work under the most beautiful rainbow, a sign of promise that filled me with hope. Hope for a miracle beyond the medical circumstance that held him captive. His small body, racked by a blood disease that showed no mercy, had undergone a bone marrow transplant many weeks ago. But the cells infused into his body that were supposed to save his life now lay dormant, as a virus raged against all efforts to control it.
I stood at his bedside with his mother, praying over the new medication we were to start that day. It had been a long road for this faithful family who already knew so much loss, and we were believing for a story of beauty from ashes. We declared that he would live to proclaim God's glory, and that his testimony would be one for the ages.
I had only known this family for the time that they had been in the hospital, but it seemed like I had carried this boy in my heart for much longer. He was exactly one week older than my own toddler, and both of their birthdays were quickly approaching. Each day I had looked forward to his sweet smile and hearing his typical, "Don't gooooo!" as our medical team would leave his room, as it reminded me of my own daughter's objections when I tucked her in each night (Don't goooo Momma! Look, I made a spot for you...)
Less than twenty-four hours later, I stood outside that same hospital room, acutely aware of the odds he was up against. Things had taken a turn for the worst, and a heaviness in the air was almost palpable as our team carefully discussed every possible treatment option. Even still, I believed. I clung to hope that his miracle was coming. I have literally seen God do the impossible before, even in this exact intensive care unit (ICU). I was ready for Him to do it again.
The afternoon seemed to crawl by, and I could hardly think of anything else. I was sitting at my desk staring at my computer and attempting to follow up on the rest of my day's work when I got a text. He's crashing. Please pray.
NO. This couldn't be happening. There was nothing I could do but pray at this point...no, prayer was everything at this point.
Then, another text. Come to the ICU now, if you can.
The doors to the ICU swung open, and I immediately felt sick to my stomach. Medical staff swarmed around his room, and everyone was moving quickly. I didn't even need to look. I knew what was happening. As a nurse called out for more epinephrine, I rushed to get it.
I continued to stand and pray. My faith at this point felt like the size of a mustard seed, but isn't that all it takes?
There is absolutely nothing more heart shattering than to see a mother in agony, as she faces the loss of her child. The mother who gave life to her child, bringing him into the world with every ounce of her being... now forced to completely surrender his life as it slips away from her desperate embrace. There are no words that can comfort, no words that can explain this cruel and unimaginable irony, during these moments when the world stands still and comes crashing down, all at the same time.
Today, the rain comes down in sheets, and the sun hides its face behind the gray clouds. This side of Heaven, the world mourns an unexplainable loss. Today was his third birthday.
How do you explain such a tragedy, even in the face of faith? How do you continue to pray, even when it seems like those prayers fell on silent ears? These are the things I've wrestled with time and again, and though the answers are never clear, there is one truth that remains...
One thing I know for sure is that God is faithful. If anyone knows the pain of watching their own child pass away, it is He. God must have also felt the agony as His own Son, Jesus, was laid bare and yet blameless on the cross, taking on the sins of this world as he died a brutal death.
I do not expect to ever understand in this lifetime why God heals some people and not others or why He performs miracles in certain situations and seemingly not in others. I don't think it's something He expects us to understand. But, if I can land in the place where I can keep coming back to who He is, I remain certain that His character is not defined by circumstance. I have seen and known Him for a great majority of my life, and I have learned firsthand of His faithfulness and His goodness. It would be the greatest tragedy of all for me to redefine His character based on events that take place in this broken world, as painful as they may be.
So I continue to stand. I continue to show up alongside the incredible medical providers who put their heart and soul into diagnosing, treating, and walking with families through the worst of childhood diseases. I continue to hold onto hope for a cure, a miracle, and ultimate healing even in the darkest of nights. For "there may be pain in the night, but joy comes in the morning..." (Psalm 30:5)
Hopeful always,
L
Two days ago, I drove to work under the most beautiful rainbow, a sign of promise that filled me with hope. Hope for a miracle beyond the medical circumstance that held him captive. His small body, racked by a blood disease that showed no mercy, had undergone a bone marrow transplant many weeks ago. But the cells infused into his body that were supposed to save his life now lay dormant, as a virus raged against all efforts to control it.
I stood at his bedside with his mother, praying over the new medication we were to start that day. It had been a long road for this faithful family who already knew so much loss, and we were believing for a story of beauty from ashes. We declared that he would live to proclaim God's glory, and that his testimony would be one for the ages.
I had only known this family for the time that they had been in the hospital, but it seemed like I had carried this boy in my heart for much longer. He was exactly one week older than my own toddler, and both of their birthdays were quickly approaching. Each day I had looked forward to his sweet smile and hearing his typical, "Don't gooooo!" as our medical team would leave his room, as it reminded me of my own daughter's objections when I tucked her in each night (Don't goooo Momma! Look, I made a spot for you...)
Less than twenty-four hours later, I stood outside that same hospital room, acutely aware of the odds he was up against. Things had taken a turn for the worst, and a heaviness in the air was almost palpable as our team carefully discussed every possible treatment option. Even still, I believed. I clung to hope that his miracle was coming. I have literally seen God do the impossible before, even in this exact intensive care unit (ICU). I was ready for Him to do it again.
The afternoon seemed to crawl by, and I could hardly think of anything else. I was sitting at my desk staring at my computer and attempting to follow up on the rest of my day's work when I got a text. He's crashing. Please pray.
NO. This couldn't be happening. There was nothing I could do but pray at this point...no, prayer was everything at this point.
Then, another text. Come to the ICU now, if you can.
The doors to the ICU swung open, and I immediately felt sick to my stomach. Medical staff swarmed around his room, and everyone was moving quickly. I didn't even need to look. I knew what was happening. As a nurse called out for more epinephrine, I rushed to get it.
I continued to stand and pray. My faith at this point felt like the size of a mustard seed, but isn't that all it takes?
There is absolutely nothing more heart shattering than to see a mother in agony, as she faces the loss of her child. The mother who gave life to her child, bringing him into the world with every ounce of her being... now forced to completely surrender his life as it slips away from her desperate embrace. There are no words that can comfort, no words that can explain this cruel and unimaginable irony, during these moments when the world stands still and comes crashing down, all at the same time.
Today, the rain comes down in sheets, and the sun hides its face behind the gray clouds. This side of Heaven, the world mourns an unexplainable loss. Today was his third birthday.
How do you explain such a tragedy, even in the face of faith? How do you continue to pray, even when it seems like those prayers fell on silent ears? These are the things I've wrestled with time and again, and though the answers are never clear, there is one truth that remains...
One thing I know for sure is that God is faithful. If anyone knows the pain of watching their own child pass away, it is He. God must have also felt the agony as His own Son, Jesus, was laid bare and yet blameless on the cross, taking on the sins of this world as he died a brutal death.
I do not expect to ever understand in this lifetime why God heals some people and not others or why He performs miracles in certain situations and seemingly not in others. I don't think it's something He expects us to understand. But, if I can land in the place where I can keep coming back to who He is, I remain certain that His character is not defined by circumstance. I have seen and known Him for a great majority of my life, and I have learned firsthand of His faithfulness and His goodness. It would be the greatest tragedy of all for me to redefine His character based on events that take place in this broken world, as painful as they may be.
So I continue to stand. I continue to show up alongside the incredible medical providers who put their heart and soul into diagnosing, treating, and walking with families through the worst of childhood diseases. I continue to hold onto hope for a cure, a miracle, and ultimate healing even in the darkest of nights. For "there may be pain in the night, but joy comes in the morning..." (Psalm 30:5)
Hopeful always,
L
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