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?