Faith in the Valley

Last Friday, I sat through some great discussion at our Life Group meeting.  A topic came up concerning a child who was recently diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer.  The woman sharing the story said that it was remarkable how strong the faith is in the mother of this child.  She said, “If I were in this position, I don’t know that I’d be that strong and that sure.”  “Yes you would,” I said.  Because I knew for sure what that looked like.  I shared a story with the group that I’ve never shared before… maybe not even with Brandon.  Three years after this event, the feelings were still so raw and deep that I couldn’t get through the story without my voice breaking up.

As I’ve shared many times, a few days before Ellie’s first heart surgery, we were told that the future looked dim for her.  The chances of her surviving the surgery weren’t great – and the chances of her having any success afterwards were nil.  I’ve shared that… but I don’t know that I’ve shared what happened between that day and her surgery. 

We’d just been transferred from CICU (where the staff knew her and me) to the PICU to wait for surgery.  We weren’t familiar with PICU… and we were meeting all new staff members at a time when I was a complete wreck.  I basically spent the next two days sobbing.  At all times, my face was red and blotchy.  My eyelids closed wonky because of how swollen they were and my eyes were terribly bloodshot.  I wasn’t sleeping – who could sleep under those circumstances?  I spent my days rocking Ellie (and bathing her with tears) and sitting in front of my laptop looking out the window at the cold, bleak world in front of me.  I listened to the choppers land on the helipad above us and to Matt Hammitt’s “All of Me” album on repeat and prayed endlessly.  I knew I was about to hand my baby over to surgeons and anesthesiologists – I knew there was a decent chance that I’d never see her alive again.  So I sobbed and prayed and stared out a window, vacant of anything but hurt.  I’m sure that the nurses already had a call in to get me some psychiatric help if things didn’t go well.  I looked like a busted up mess and rarely looked up to meet anyone else’s gaze.

But here’s the thing:  about 24 hours before we were set to send Ellie off to the OR, something washed over me and my prayers turned from begging – to surrendering.  Looking back, I’m not even sure how this was possible, and I can’t imagine doing it again.  But I can tell you with absolute certainty that when you reach the depths of what your heart can endure, God steps in and lets you entrust your future in Him.  It’s hard to explain.  But imagine that your child is scared or hurt… happens to all of them, right?  What do you do?  You bring them in, cuddle them under your arm, and say, “I’ve got you.  You can trust me.  I’ll take care of you.”  Right?  Well, let me tell you, God is that parent… but His love is even stronger than anything you can imagine.  When I was pouring my soul out then, He brought me in… He held me tight and asked me to trust Him.  I knew He’d take care of me.  My prayers changed that morning… and with that, I found some peace, and still had plenty of sobs.  I reached a point in my sorrow where I honestly began to repeat, “Your will be done”.  I had no idea what His will was for Ellie in that moment, but I knew that I was completely powerless in the situation.  I knew that we were either in for a miracle or the most extreme heartbreak imaginable.  Either way, I had no say in how the next 24 hours would go.  I had to hold on tight and let someone else steer.  God looked down and saw his daughter staring in the face of her enemy – petrified of what would be - hope waning as she held her own baby.  He gave me strength and peace in surrendering Ellie over to Him.  

In the wee hours on the morning of surgery, I was up holding her, rocking her in her sleep.  I was humming the words to the Matt Hammitt song I loved so much (humming because I couldn’t physically make any words that morning).  When the nurses came in, Brandon and I gave her the pre-surgery bath of cholhexadine and the smell of those wipes is still ingrained in my memory.  We handed her off that morning and fell into the arms of our parents as we waited those long hours.  But the tears were gone… maybe I’d completely run dry of tears.  The awful period where I poured my soul out for days on end was over.  There was a peace that wrapped around me like a warm blanket.  It allowed me to talk and laugh and focus on our family while we waited for her surgeon’s report.  God was there.  He pulled me in just as I have my children many times, He held on to me and begged me to trust His plan.  He let me know that He’d take care of me no matter what and He loved me.  Never in my life have I been so sure of who my heavenly Daddy was! 

I’ve met countless other parents (mostly moms) who have walked similar paths.  I can tell you that everyone prays in that surgical waiting room.  I can tell you that when things are the worst, faith runs full throttle.  If you want to see faith that can really move mountains, talk to a parent whose child is critically ill.  Is it awful that faith shows up stronger than ever in times like these?  Maybe.  But I can speak with absolute confidence when I say that we have a God who protects, who loves, who strengthens the weak.  We have a God who nourishes and speaks life into you when you cannot go on.  He takes you in under His mighty arms and asks you to trust in Him.  He performs miracles and gives peace when the miracles don’t happen on this side of heaven.  I know this because I’ve seen it with my own eyes and felt it in my own heart. 

We don’t have to be at the end of our ropes to trust in Him.  We know that.  He loves us and cares for us in our tiny “emergencies” just as He does on our darkest days.  Over the past week, I’ve been trying to focus on getting back to the place where I heard His voice… back to the place where I knew He was there beside me every day.  I don’t want to be back in the hospital to know this.  I need to seek Him out in my daily life because I know what it feels like to have Him sit next to you and wrap you in His endless love.  I need that on my worst days, of course, but I need to seek it more on my good days, as well.  I have a few people in my life who are staring their enemies in the face right now… women who are walking into some of their worst fears.  I pray that they feel God’s presence in a tangible way right now.  I pray that they can see that the enemy is a liar.  There’s a song by Zach Williams called “Fear is a Liar” and it’s been running through my brain lately – I think it’s a song that can help these women… and can really speak to us all.  I love you all and pray that you feel God’s presence in your life… that you know He takes you into His embrace to bring you comfort and peace – even in the midst of a storm.

A look back at that very dark time for us… plus some recent happiness below.  Thank you for following along.  If you need some more musical inspiration… Toby Mac is one of my favs.  Listen to “I just need you”.  He quotes Psalm 23 in it… and it’s perfect.

I couldn't look at the camera with my busted up face.  

Holding Ellie before we had to give her the pre-surgery bath.

Can you feel the weight on his shoulders?  Ugh.

Buggy right before she was wheeled into the OR.  I'm pretty sure she's praying, too.

Fast forward to the present:

Kaleb during his wrestling banquet this weekend - with coach, Daddy

Earlier last week - a sick Kaleb

And a sick Buggy... finally sleeping.  She's a monster when she's sick.

We had one nice day in Ohio... nice enough to play outside after school

Kaleb painting the planets for his solar system

And Lance - with a little more precision in his painting.

Kaleb at the playground (on the one nice day)

And Lance spinning on the swing

Ellie reading a book to her baby... sooo sweet.

Psalm 23

1 The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing.
2     He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he leads me beside quiet waters,
3     he refreshes my soul.
He guides me along the right paths
    for his name’s sake.
4 Even though I walk
    through the darkest valley,
I will fear no evil,
    for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
    they comfort me.

5 You prepare a table before me
    in the presence of my enemies.
You anoint my head with oil;
    my cup overflows.
6 Surely your goodness and love will follow me
    all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord
    forever.