By the Light of the IV Infuser

I looked at the calendar this morning. I can hardly believe it was three weeks ago today that we began this journey with Josiah. It feels like months or longer. Overall, I have really been doing great as I watch him return to himself, gain strength, and provide those precious moments that make me burst inside at the joy he brings. But I have my moments, too, when it all catches up with me, when I weep at the "what ifs" that race through my thoughts, when the weight of it all seems to sit more heavily on me than I am capable of bearing, when I wonder or worry about the long-term affects on his health.

Spending four long nights in a hospital gives one plenty of opportunity to think. It's dangerous. Our thoughts can stray to horrible things, if we let them. The overhead lights were dimmed as low as they would go, and the brightest light by which I could see the outline of my son's chest rise and fall with each breath was the IV infuser that trickled away the smallest amounts of fluid to treat and nourish his suffering little body. It was quiet, and I ached with love for my little boy, feeling like the small moments of time that I held him I couldn't hold him close enough. But I can still clearly see that place where I sat (it was only nine days ago, after all), with the glaring light of the IV machine, and it surprises me to think of how I felt peace. A feeling of peace that I should not have possessed as I sat alone, surrounded by all those machines.

I really thought that November 12 to 16, 2008 would go down in my history book as one of the lowest times of my life. Instead, I see it as one of the most hopeful and peaceful. I can't explain it, except for the fact that I continue to talk to people who tell me they have been praying. Not just our church, our friends, our family, but also their churches, their friends, their families. Your prayers sustained us in that time, and continue to do so.

I spent time in that chair beside Joey's dimly-lit bed in earnest prayer for his life. I also spent a lot of time thanking God for so many things: for the prayers of countless people through which God gave us peace and hope; for the selfless acts of blood donors whose refined antibodies now course through my son's body and have brought him healing; for living just four miles from one of the top children's hospitals in the nation; for that feeling in my gut that told me he needed serious help; for living in an age where rare diseases can be identified and treated; for the knowledge God has given us about the bodies he has created for us, and the doctors and nurses who administer care, especially through the long hours of the night; for the volunteers who add such loving touches as a soft fleece blanket to lay my baby on, and teddy bears to cheer him; for a strong marriage and a wonderful partner in life who kept our family running in my absense from home; for a daughter whose understanding went far beyond her 4 1/2 years and whose countenance and obedience are proof in themselves of the power of prayer; for the opportunity to once again cherish each smile, giggle, and snuggle of our sweet little boy; and for knowing now more than ever that each day we have with our children is truly a gift.

Every day of this past week has been a day of Thanksgiving for us. My hope is that it won't stop after Thursday comes and goes, but that we will continue to offer up prayers of thanks to God for all He so graciously gives us. Especially His peace.