Day 3 - June 18 - Despair. And hope?

A short update because I need to let you know what a blessing you all are to us.  This afternoon, I spent ten short minutes with Connor.  He opened his eyes, so I smiled into his face and whispered "I love you".  He kept gazing into me, and I defy anyone who has a hurt child to resist speaking hope and encouragement to them.  It started simply - first whispered encouragement, then seeing that his lips were dry and swabbing his mouth for him.  Quickly, my tender mercies to my broken child turned into too much stimulation for my boy, and he began to labor to breathe.  I struggled to calm him without making it worse, without success.  Within a few moments, he had locked his gaze on my eyes and was pleading for me to lift his head and pull his neck to relieve the pain.  I cried as I refused: I knew I would be endangering his health if I started moving his head, but the hurting, lonely, frightened little boy staring out of Connor's eyes understood only that his father wasn't helping him.

I'm weeping as I write this, for I failed to be the one thing a child always expects their father to be - I failed to fix it, to make it better.  Worse, I failed to help my boy when he needed me desperately, and I have always told him I would ALWAYS be there for him if I could.  I read my own betrayal reflected in his eyes.

I finally had to resort to calling the nurse and having her calm him, and I left the ICU in despair, but under control.  Until I ran into my friend Randy in the hall, when the dam burst.  To my shame, I ranted against my Lord - how could he be this unfair?  How little God must love my son, if He would do this terrible thing to Connor just for the sake of "blessing" some other person somewhere else?  Who does He think he is, anyway?  I wept and wailed and threw my agony into the face of a God I now saw as a cold-hearted bastard who would kill my child to make some other kid happy.

That's when the two mothers showed up.  They were the mothers of the two boys in the rooms next to Connor, both of whom are dealing with traumatic brain injuries.  Amazingly and unjustly, they were both receiving relatively good news today, while I...  Well, we spoke a bit, I admitted that we were not having a good day, expressing my frustration with God.  One of the ladies said "I've felt the same way - and I try to remember that this must have been what Mary felt, watching God take her son to the cross.  Yes, great things were promised for the future, but Mary probably couldn't help wishing it didn't have to be so."  When they had left, my friend gently asked me - "can you honestly tell me that God didn't bring her by to remind you that He knows exactly what a hurting Son feels like?"

That drained the poison from my wounded heart, and I have been moving through this evening on a post-adrenaline swamp of mixed emotion.  Until a few minutes ago, when Cherie and I got a quiet moment, opened the blog, and spent twenty minutes reading all of your comments. Then, your words of hope and encouragement, your scriptures and songs, allowed us to quiet our souls long enough hear the truth of your words.  By the time we had worked through the lot of them, we had been rejuvenated for another tiny step in this uncertain journey.

Just now my father-in-law came out and advised us that for the last hour, Connor has been sleeping and resting, breathing consistently and well.  My God is faithful, even when I doubt it.

And so we move another step.  Pray for us, that our faith would be strong.  The requests for Connor remain the same, and add one - that he would find sufficiency in God's Spirit communing with him during this time.  Pray that his pain recedes, and that his feeling increases.  Pray that his Heavenly Father would be more reliable to Connor than his earthly father is.  And thank you for your words - please keep them coming.  You are being used by God to sustain us.  We love you, family.