Day 12 - June 27 - Encouragement

I had been speaking with Brad yesterday about my concerns while I was back at the house, and he observed that, since we're getting a healthy dose of "nothing happens apart from God's will" this week, it seemed likely that God had arranged for a night alone for me for a reason. Brad suggested that when I pray, I take the time to shut up and listen to what God had for me instead. That sounded like a good idea, so like the dutiful brother I am, I ignored him, praying diligently before I went to bed.

In the middle of the night, I awoke and began praying for the boy. I labored over my requests and concerns, and then decided to just listen to see what God wanted me to know. I told Him I would just listen. There was no thundering (or whispering) voice; the Glory of the Lord didn't shine about me; but as I lay there, a verse was suddenly in my head - "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me". Hmmm, says I. I sure don't feel like it, Lord.

That's when the music started. Not out loud, but deep inside my empty head - "Hold fast, help is on the way. Hold fast, He comes to save the day". Somewhere in my wonder at all this, I slipped back asleep.

God is good, right? So this morning, I awake, fighting against my despair as I get ready to head back to Fresno. During my morning ablations, I suddenly find myself driven to my knees, pleading with my Father for my son. I find myself praying with power and authority, knowing that as His child, I have the right to boldly approach His throne of grace.

Wow, right? So half an hour later, I'm headed down the road, in fear for my son, and I realize that I have no uplifting music in the car - I had recently changed CDs and I had all the Wilson Pickett, George Thorogood, and Golden Earring I needed; but very little of the music that would help. So I switch on the radio, and I hear these words sung by Kutless - "You are my strong tower, a shelter over me".

So my Father provides, a bit at a time, to carry us one more step on the journey.

I didn't make it back to the hospital before they took Connor for his tracheotomy and feeding tube surgery this morning. When I heard that I was going to miss him before he went in, I began to weep as it sank in that Connor hadn't seen his Dad before this procedure. Not a good idea on a highway, but still...

I arrived at the hospital safely, and got to see the boy after the procedure. While he's uncomfortable, I'm lifted by how happy he is to not have tubes in his mouth and nose anymore. The respiratory therapist is struggling to clear the fluids from Connor's lungs; the nurse is telling us that Connor has pneumonia; the doctors have to go back in and place a larger tracheotomy tube because his saturation level isn't coming back up to where it needs to be, which may mean he won't be able to have a speaking valve fitted; the news tosses us to and fro, washing us around on deck like waves pouring over the ship. The Perfect Storm is upon us, crashing about us, tossing us in the wind, burying us under tons of water from which we struggle to arise. We hold fast to our Lifeline, because it's all we have left. To hold on may mean we perish; to let go is to certainly die.

"How long, O LORD ? Will you forget me forever? 

How long will you hide your face from me?

How long must I wrestle with my thoughts 

and every day have sorrow in my heart? 
How long will my enemy triumph over me? 

Look on me and answer, O LORD my God. 
Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death; 

my enemy will say, "I have overcome him," 

and my foes will rejoice when I fall. 

But I trust in your unfailing love; 

my heart rejoices in your salvation. 

I will sing to the LORD, for he has been good to me."

- Psalm 13