All articles filed in December 2013

I’m very thankful for the support and love we’ve received since the post on Sunday, mainly in the form of emails and facebook comments. If you’ve ever wondered whether you can minister to someone through technology via email, facebook comments, or texts, be assured, you can. And we have been the humbled recipients of that.

I, especially, have felt buoyed and strengthened, almost normal at times.

A friend asked me a week or two ago, if I was feeling ministered to by the Lord. And as I stopped to think about it, the answer was a definite yes. It seemed the Lord was going out of His way to make his care and presence obvious. A 9 month pregnant friend drove all the way across the Cities in the snow to bring us a meal the evening of the MRI, another friend who lives 5 states away had a package delivered the day we received the bad news of his MRI results with the beautiful lyric, “When all around my soul gives way, He then is all my hope and stay.” Even the music on the annoyingly chipper radio seemed subdued and reverent. And there were many other things that will stay anonymous, but were real kindnesses from God through His people.

Yet I’ve been the toddler whose dad is is giving them a hug after some big disappointment and they are kicking, screaming, crying and simply want what they want. They don’t want the comfort until they’ve come to accept the reality that they’re being denied something. I’m beginning to accept our reality, which means I’m slowly feeling His embrace as the loving thing that it is.

Right now I am incredibly grateful for the uncertainty that we are walking in. Initially after the MRI it seemed likely that Titus had this degenerative and fatal condition, but after a group of doctors met to discuss it last Friday, they still believe there is another option and that Titus could “just” have a static disability that would not get worse with time, but would reveal itself as he grows. What blessed uncertainty. If I’m given the choice between really bad news and waiting with a more hopeful option in play, I prefer the latter.

The uncertainty has allowed me to put the scary diagnosis possibilities on the back shelf of my brain and stay in the present, day by day realities. There will be more testing and eye surgery next month and therapy, but overall, the uncertainty has removed some of the paralysis, so I can just be thankful for Titus: thankful that he’s chubby, that he smiles, that he turns his head more now, that he coos. And mostly just thankful that he’s our son.

The Lord has hidden some things from us regarding Titus and he’s chosen to place us on this journey of heartache and unknowns. It’s a journey that is requiring me to learn how to receive. I know that it’s more blessed to give than receive, and I’ve always wanted the bigger blessing.

But God’s got a humbling work to do in me. He’s got steadfast love and compassion spilling out everywhere, they’re coming out of his fingertips through his people, and only a fool would turn away from that kind of receiving.

Please pray for Titus and all of us. We can’t see what’s in front of us, but we know who we’re following and He’s never led us astray.

The past two months have been hard. Well, even longer than that, but especially the past two months.

We’ve been dealt a blow regarding our son, Titus James. Without going into great detail, it is enough to say that he has some brain abnormalities and we do not yet know what all that will mean for his life and abilities, or even the length of his life.  The doctor tells us that we should do as much as we can to help him grow and develop, regardless of how bad it might be, and so, between doctor visits and lots of testing, that’s what we’ll do.

This has been a hard and bitter providence as we’ve contemplated the grim worst case scenarios told to us by the doctors. I feel as though I’m on the Dawn Treader in Narnia in the Lone Islands approaching the terrifying darkness: The Island Where Dreams Come True, and the terror sets in as we realize, just as Lucy and Edmund and Eustace did, it’s really our worst nightmare come true. I cannot contemplate anything worse on this earth than losing a child.

Regarding this possibility, I’ve moved from grief to denial to grief to hope to grief to denial to grief to acceptance and so on. I am slowly getting some footing, for today at least. Our journey with Titus is largely hidden from us. We don’t know what it will be, we don’t have a concrete diagnosis, we don’t understand all that’s going on in his brain. But I’m finding real comfort in remembering that God does know all these things. Nothing is hidden from him.

And here’s what I know for myself: I know that tomorrow I’m going to get up and love Titus and each one of the people under our roof. Tomorrow I’m going to fix food and teach little people and get my oldest to her orthodontist appt. I’m going to do tummy time and sweep the floor and have the fireplace going. I’m going to light a candle and put on Christmas music and really smile at each of the kids. And I’m going to cherish every moment with the baby son that I longed for and prayed for and was finally given. He is a tender undeserved gift.

And some days I’m just going to scrape by and dinner won’t be made and the house will be a mess and I’ll rewash the same load of laundry in the washer for a week because I’m too tired and sad and overwhelmed to figure out how to get it to the dryer. And no matter which type of day I’m having, my God will still be kindhearted.

I also know that we can’t walk this road alone. The past few months have felt lonely, lonely because we knew even less than we know now–just a vague: something’s not right. And how do you ask for prayer for that? Most people just want to convince you that everything’s fine. And I wanted to believe it so badly.

So, I will write about this trial, when I have the ability. I’ll ask for prayers. I’ll accept the (beautiful undeserved) support from God’s people who love us and love Titus, I’ll share as much of my heart as I’m able. And when I’m not, I’ll still be here, probably more in need than ever. But the Lord has not forgotten us. He has not forsaken us. Our pastor quoted part of this passage today and it was a balm:

“Sing for joy, O heavens, and exult, O earth; break forth, O mountains, into singing!

For the Lord has comforted his people and will have compassion on his afflicted.

But Zion said, “The Lord has forsaken me; my Lord has forgotten me.”

“Can a woman forget her nursing child, that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb?

Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you.

Behold, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands..” Is. 49:13-16

No, just as I can never forget for one millisecond my nursing son, even more so the Lord cannot and will not forget us. So whenever I’m feeling despair, I will remember that the Lord has compassion on his afflicted. He has graven us on his hands. He’s written our names in a Book. He became weak for us: the weak. He became helpless for us: the helpless. And he loves this son of mine immeasurably. He made my son in His own image and because of Titus, my picture of God is becoming more of who He really is. I have a lot to learn.