Sunday, May 29, 2011

Fibulary Hemimelia Before (2 Timothy 2:3 -Thou therefore endure hardness, as a good soldier of Jesus Christ.)

Sometimes I need reminding of just why we are going through with this surgery, and yesterday I was reminded.  Ethan's leg length difference seems to have grown much worse this past year --probably because he has grown much taller.  At the end of growth his right leg will exceed his left by 4 inches.  Right now, he's over 2 inches different, and these pictures tell his story. 

I will be excited to post part 2 of this blog:  Fibular Hemimelia After!

Did you notice, too, the scripture in the title?  A little, powerful verse God gave me this morning while I studied for Sunday School.  I spoke about teaching our children to suffer well.  The blog title is "God's Warrior," and I love that Paul, who knew suffering, was inspired to write this verse to Timothy.  We will all  face hardship; no one is excluded from difficulties --certainly our Saviour suffered while He was here.  But, how we choose to suffer is left up to us.  We can grumble and complain, blame others, become angry with God, or cry that life isn't fair.  Or, we can do as God commands and learn to "endure hardness as a good soldier of Jesus Christ."  My prayer, Ethan, is that you learn to do just that!  May your Dad and I model for you suffering that glorifies the Lord.

This is Ethan's natural stance.

 In these, he is standing on his right foot to show the difference.  He was a bit wiggly, so these were the best we could do!


Thursday, May 19, 2011

Fibular Hemimelia -A Prayer

Dear God,

You'll get me through this.  You'll give me the strength and courage to wait in another waiting room for another phone call from a doctor telling me that my baby is okay.  Remember when it was Josh?  Remember when the doctor said, "If you see me come through those double doors, then you'll know that it's not okay because the nurses won't come out and tell you that kind of news"?  Remember when I begged over and over, "Lord, don't let that surgeon come through that door?  Remember when you answered, and he didn't open those glass doors that I watched for four hours?  Remember when you turned that malignant brain tumor into a simple pool of blood, and the doctor said, "Don't thank me, thank Him," when he finally delivered news of a miracle?  Can You just do that again?

Remember when Ethan was first born, less than a year after Josh's surgery, and I was afraid?  Remember when I didn't trust You?  Remember when I thought you might have plans for Ethan that would be too difficult for me to accept.  Remember when I knew that Ethan wasn't really mine, but I held onto him still, thinking that holding on would keep him safe.  Remember when you taught me that it's letting go, and handing them back to You that keeps our children safe?  Remember when you taught me that the plans that you have for my children are plans to prosper them and not to harm them --plans to give them a hope and a future?  Can you just remind me of that again?

You'll be there with me the night before his surgery while I don't sleep and I touch his little face and pray over those little toes.  You'll comfort me as I think of Emily's face when she sees Ethan in pain.  The little girl who cries when he cries and can't accept even a piece of gum without getting one for him.  You'll remind me that You're near when I think of Josh who, at 13, wants to stay with his dad and grandparents and will be miles away, yet still my baby.  Can You remind me that You'll be with Emily and Josh, too?

Can you just sit with me awhile tonight?  I know how busy You must be --how many hurting hearts You must attend to, but can you just comfort mine?  Can you remind me as I look at little pairs of Spiderman underwear that have to be altered to fit over a fixator, that this, too, will pass.  That there is nothing new under heaven.  That pain is universal, yet you are personal?  That some lessons cannot be learned any other way.  Can you help me bend my will to yours?

Just one more request.  Will you reveal yourself to Ethan through this surgery in such a mighty way, as you have for me, that he feels Your presence?  Will you be so real for him that he will thank you one day for fibular hemimelia?