10 years

I woke up this morning and realized that 10 years ago I was waking up about this time in a completely different world. 10 years ago, I woke with fear, dread, horror, and crushing stress.

You see, in a few minutes I was about to stand by my son’s bed and watch him have a seizure – how many had it been by this date? I couldn’t tell you. We were about to hand him over to a surgeon and give him up for a horrifying surgery . My husband was home with a raging fever and pneumonia. I had told him to stay home so that he could come later, when the surgery was over. My parents, recently divorced – who saw each other again for the first time in that hospital room – were sucking it up for our son’s sake. I hadn’t slept in my own bed in months, I was used to the smell of a hospital, I had seen our doctor just stand and stare and sigh and finally speak “Okay… I’ll see in you in the morning…” I had seen parents pushed from the room next door while the staff rushed in to try and save their child. I had heard one doctor say “If we don’t do this surgery, this is going to kill him” and the other tell me, “It’s only a matter of time before he codes on us”. I had watched helplessly as our son came so close to the edge, seen the concern on nurses’ faces, learned how to wake up from a deep sleep to the sound of a seizure, and I had made the awful, yet easy decision one day to stop counting seizures after we hit 300.

But there was hope, just a kernel of hope, that helped me get out of bed that day.

I held him and told him it was okay, that he wouldn’t have to do this anymore. I clung to that hope and maybe it was really more a prayer, a begging of God Almighty to come down and put his hand on my son. And I handed him over, kissed him and let go, all hinged on this kernel of hope, this thread of mercy and grace, clinging to that verse that hung over his bed: “’For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’” –Jeremiah 29:11

What I didn’t know, was that that was the last seizure I would see. What I didn’t know was that my son would laugh and talk and walk again. What I didn’t know was that he would come up to me and put his arms (yes, both arms) around me and hug me so tight that it hurt and then laugh about it. What I didn’t know was that he would get sassy and naughty and funny and bright. What I didn’t know was that he would learn to swim and play the trumpet. What I didn’t know was that God would take normalcy and half his brain away, and give back a miracle.

But on this morning, I had hope. These facts I have just listed weren’t even in my dreams that day. I only wanted him to be alive, in the very basic sense of that word. I had no earthly idea how much he would actually live.

And on this morning ten years later as I wake up and start my day, my mind runs over all my stress, my concerns over my son’s new set of struggles, money, housing, all the little worries that nip at your heels. I realize, like the people in the V-8 commercials, that there is always hope, that God still works miracles, and that He will provide what we need.

"A hope and a future."

Healing

Have you ever been told to rest for weeks at a time? It is difficult, isn't it?

In this fast paced life we can barely comprehend "recouperation" and "rest". We get just barely enough sleep, sit only as long as it takes to eat a meal, perhaps we spend way too much time at the computer, but that is not restful. Even dozing on the couch in front of the TV is not really rest.

And so a doctor - or sometimes life itself - comes along and prescribes TIME.

What is that? You mean that slippery commodity we always lack, can't keep track of and mourn bitterly? TIME? You mean you want me to sit and do nothing? Lie down in my bed for hours and not feel guilt? Eat well? Drink plenty of fluids? REST?

This is not an easy perscription. Over the last few weeks I have felt as though I was going to have to tie myself down. And the times I ignored the orders and went out anyway, or walked that extra bit just because I could, or did that extra task because it didn't seem to matter much, my body let me know about it.

Bodies understand time, even if brains don't.

The other day, I decided it wouldn't hurt to load a few dirty dishes in the dishwasher. Well, that was so easy, I thought it wouldn't be too bad to just hand wash a few things that didn't fit. And after that, well, the sink needed cleaning. Looking at the clean sink, well, the counter just was out of place, so I cleaned it too. Then I turned around and saw that the stove and counters over there needed wiping too. Oh my, what have I done? I'm exhausted!!

There is no getting around it, you have one chance to heal and your body really won't let you do much about that fact.

The heart heals in much the same way. It can suffer injury or insult just the same. And we want it to heal quickly, to not bother us anymore with it's pain. Only to find ourselves suffering more when we ignore it's needs.

And what is the perscription for a healing heart?

Love, mostly. Perfect Love, found only in One place, in one Person. Because in Him is perfect nourishment, perfect peace, perfect rest. And we must spend TIME there, feeding off of His comfort and restoration. We must be patient and diligent to fill ourselves with His Word and surround ourselves with His Truth.

I know it to be true.

3 weeks? 6 weeks? 10 years?

Our bodies and our hearts heal at different paces, for sure, and surely, scars remain. But as we run our fingers over those rough spots, we can see how far we have come, understand that it hurts so much less today than it did before. We can be astonished at how quickly TIME has passed and how those wounds we thought would never heal are distant memories.

Are you healing? Take your TIME.