"Never be afraid to trust an unknown future to a known God." - Corrie Ten Boom



Christmas 2009. Intubated & awaiting tracheostomy surgery.

Christmas 2013. It has been four years since God prompted us to bring Timothy to the ER to save his life. That day in 2009 marks a major turning point in God's plan for our family.

Before, I had viewed suffering as an obstacle to overcome, not a place in which to dwell. But Timothy's condition would not allow that kind of victory. His problem was chronic. It could not be postponed, pushed through, or put away. It had to be accepted. For the rest of our lives.

Thank God that He is merciful, giving us at each moment only what we are able to bear, making His grace sufficient for us, and making us more like Christ in the process.

Christmas 2013 will begin a new chapter in our lives as God moves us far away from the comforts of home into a new, unfamiliar place. One by one, the pieces of our lives are being transferred from the world of everyday experience to the gauzy, ethereal realm of memories. Saying goodbye is painful, difficult, and brings sadness. This too, must be accepted.



Recovering at Kaiser Sunset PICU.

Last month as I sat beside Timothy's hospital bedside, my heart broke as I watched his young spirit despair in fear and sadness. I tried to distract him with movies and toys, but what he wanted was to hear Psalm 23. He listened intently as I told him of God's green pastures, of Him restoring our souls, of having Him to comfort us as we walk through the valley. Then I read the words of Isaiah 53, of Jesus, who understood what physical pain felt like. Then came the verse we had been memorizing the week before, Revelation 21:4, "And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away." He was engaged. He was enraptured. He heard every word. With an intriguing combination of childlike faith and the maturity that is gained only through suffering, my little boy was drinking in the water of life, God's truth, to comfort his hurting soul.



Cupcakes for Timothy Fundraiser.

The fact that we cannot understand the "why" of suffering does not matter. What counts is our response. It makes me think of a little girl named Audrey, 3, whom we met at Ronald McDonald House during our last stay. Audrey's mom showed me some of Audrey's "Beads of Courage." Every time Audrey endured a difficult medical procedure, she earned a special bead. "These are the ones she earned this week," said Audrey's mother, showing me a handful of beads. "She has a necklace in our room that goes all the way to the floor."

My prayer for Audrey, for Timothy, for you, is that, we will all turn to the suffering Son of God to come alongside us in our pain and find rest for our souls as we put our trust in Him. Have you asked Jesus to forgive you for your sins? He came to earth as a baby on Christmas so that He could grow up, take the punishment of death that was reserved for you, and bear it upon Himself so that, someday, you can dwell in the presence of the Almighty where there will never be any pain again.

Like us, is God beginning a new chapter in your life?

Hebrews 12:25," See to it that you do not refuse Him who is speaking."

Merry Christmas.

Loves those binkies to this day.



G-tube feed with Daddy.



If there is mud, he will find it.

Gardening with Daddy.



Best brothers.



Cooking with Mommy.

Fun in the sun.

Recovering from T&A sugery, March 2012.

Recovering from facial resection surgery, June 2013.



He loves Cubbies!

Recovering from epiglottis surgery, December 2013

I love this little boy.

Deuteronomy 8:2
"And you shall remember that the Lord your God led you all the way these forty years in the wilderness, to humble you and test you, to know what was in your heart, whether you would keep His commandments or not."

In less than a week my husband and I will be bringing our son back to the hospital for another surgery. Then we will fly home, pack our things, and move away.

I wish so much that I could put into words how it feels to be Timothy's Mommy right now. Instead my thoughts are as disorganized as the half-packed boxes in the garage. I guess it doesn't really matter if I could write everything down; no one could possibly understand what it's like to hold their inconsolable toddler in the PACU unless they have done it.

Sometimes I just gaze at my son's little four-year-old face and ask why he has to endure so much. I wonder how much of his childhood innocence could possibly be left. I think about all he has experienced in so little time. I worry about how suffering will change him. Because, for better or for worse, it will change him. It already has.

My worst fear for him is not that he will never get his trach out, or that he won't be able to eat, or that he will aspirate, or bleed, or be made fun of, or anything temporal. My worst fear is that he will blame God.

Sometimes when we go through hard times, we feel like our expectations have not been met. We are right: they haven't. They can't be, at least not in this life, because we were created for Heaven. If every gray cloud has a silver lining, then likewise even the most silver of clouds will have gray. It's actually for our good that the world is this way; for to be satisfied with this life only would be a tragedy.

I don't know why God chose this little boy to be appointed to trials. I do know that He loves him even more than me, that He is jealous for him and that he belongs to Him. And I know that suffering alongside him makes me long for heaven more than I ever have - not only for myself, but also for him.

I wish I could say that I have it all together, that I have received some deep-seated spiritual insight that has helped me cast off all anxiety, that I have perfect peace about this upcoming surgery and move away from the only home our family has known. I don't. I know what surgery is like and it will be difficult. But I know that God is with us, and that He loves us, and that He will use it for good. To be at peace in the wilderness is not something that can come from me; it must come from Him. Please, God, help me to trust you and give our family strength in these coming days.

Isaiah 55:8-9
"For My thoughts are not your thoughts,
Nor are your ways My ways," says the Lord.
"For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
So are My ways higher than your ways,
And My thoughts than your thoughts."

Hebrews 11:8, "By faith Abraham, when he was called, obeyed... and he went out, not knowing where he was going."

On November 7, 2013, our home went up for sale. Four years to the day of Timothy's birth.

I remember clearly the day we moved in: a new marriage, a new child and another on the way, and finally, our first home. I had such excitement and anticipation as I imagined all the wonderful possibilities and joys we would experience in this new place as we established our home and family in the years to come.

But when Timothy was born, I felt like my naïve hopes for the perfect home had been strangled to death. I had barely set foot in a hospital other than to deliver my children, and had little familiarity with physical suffering. A "defective" baby did not fit into my schedule, structure, finances, or any other sphere of the life I wanted to build. But my Lord gently began to teach me that He, not I, is the master City Builder. I needed to understand the faith of Abraham the nomad, living in tents, who never built his own city, because he was "looking for the city... whose architect and builder is God."

In some ways, dreams of the future for our time on this earth are joyful and useful, but when one's life has been surrendered to the Lord, His path tends to take twists and turns that bring far greater contentment than our own ever could. As I go room by room through our home and sift through our belongings, the many memories, good and bad, overwhelm me as I reflect on how God has worked. After every hospital stay, this house has been our safe place, our refuge. We have hurt together, healed together, and grown in our knowledge of God. This has been the place we have come when we needed rest, refuge, and comfort. Through family, friends, and the body of Christ, God has shown His faithfulness in different ways in each room of this little house.

As I struggle through feelings of sadness, I must remember to set my heart not on a place, but a Person. I wonder if this is why God's Word shows Him constantly calling people away from their homes. I think of Abraham, Rebekah, Jacob, Joseph, Moses, Samuel, Daniel... and our ultimate example, Jesus, who left the only perfect home that ever has existed, Heaven itself, to make His sojourn on the earth.

By moving our family, God has prompted me to step back and see my life from the perspective of heaven. Possessions, places, and in certain ways, even people, pale in the light of Heaven. God wants us to travel light and set our hearts on a better place than this broken world. He wants us to follow Him wherever He leads. His promise to be with us wherever we go is all we need to keep our compass on track during the journey.

Soon we will begin the next chapter God has planned for us, making new memories in a new home. Like Abraham, I do not know where He will take us, but I know that He will be there.

Hebrews 11:13-16 "All these died in faith, without receiving the promises, but having seen them and having welcomed them from a distance, and having confessed that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. For those who say such things make it clear that they are seeking a country of their own. And indeed if they had been thinking of that country from which they went out, they would have had opportunity to return. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God; for He has prepared a city for them."

The Unexpected Blessing

Genesis 32:26, "But Jacob replied, 'I will not let you go unless you bless me.'"

A healthy child is a blessing.

A special needs child can be even more of a blessing.

It may not seem so on the surface. After all, I spent all of yesterday at my son's hospital bedside, then came home to weep, crawl into bed exhausted, and toss fitfully before falling into a shallow, restless sleep. (How could sitting in a chair all day possibly make me so tired?)

Time stood still as I wiped my son's tears, listened to him cry for home, watched drugs drain his vibrant spirit, and stroked his hair as he endured pain that I could do nothing to stop. All the while, the Enemy whispered in my ear, "Where is God? Surely He would never let your beloved son suffer so." And for a brief moment, I, in the frailty of my flesh, believed it.

But then I heard myself describing to my little boy the wounds suffered by the Father's own Beloved Son. I told him of the nail driven through his one hand; then the nail driven through the other; and finally the nail driven through His feet. I told him that Jesus understood what it was like to feel pain. And in His suffering, Jesus Himself also asked, "My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?"

Then I spoke to him of heaven. That he would receive a new body; that there would be no more death, or sorrow, or crying, or pain; that one day God, not me, would wipe away every tear from his eyes. And I realized that I was also speaking to myself.

So often we think God's blessing means getting what we want, but true biblical blessing is not usually like that. Blessed are those who mourn, the Scripture says; blessed are the poor in spirit; blessed are the meek, the merciful, the persecuted. Having a child like Timothy brings me to the end of myself and humbles me to utter dependence upon the Lord. In His infinite wisdom, God has used Timothy's weakness to show me my own. As my selfishness, pride, and doubting heart are prodded by His gentle hands, I am emptied of myself and filled to overflowing with the love of the Savior.

When Jacob wrestled with God, he insisted that he would not let go until He blessed him. What did he receive in return? Escape, comfort, ease? No, he received a new name: Israel, "He struggles with God." The Scripture says that he strove with God and prevailed. Jacob clung to God, even when He afflicted him. And His "blessing" was continual, lifelong weakness and struggle with God.

My earnest desire and prayer is that I, and my beloved son Timothy, will accept the weakness God has ordained for us, and that we, like Jacob, will struggle with God and prevail, so that we may one day receive the blessing.

Romans 8:18, “For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.”

There is no sweeter place than that of utter helplessness before God.

Last night, as sleep fled from my eyes, my spirit longed for some eloquent, exhaustive, persuasive prayer that would convince God to take away my child’s suffering. Instead, all I could do was to cry out, “I NEED YOU, I NEED YOU, I NEED YOU!” over and over again. How could I put into words the anguish of a parent anticipating her child’s pain? I wanted nothing more than to take Timothy in my arms, hold him tight, and protect him from all of the world’s brokenness

I wonder what God the Father experienced that night in Gethsemane. The Scriptures describe in great detail the distress of Jesus; but what of the Father? How did He feel on the eve of His beloved Son’s crucifixion? The Scriptures are strangely silent. I know that He felt compassion, for He sent an angel to comfort Him; but, like me, did He feel anxious, afraid, helpless?

In three days, I will watch my son be put to sleep, then walk away as I entrust him to the hands of his surgeons. Really, though, I will consciously be placing him back, yet again, into the hands of Christ. Timothy belongs to God, and despite the depths of my love for him, incredibly, his Heavenly Father loves him even more. It is hard enough for me to relinquish my child into the hands of a loving God; I cannot fathom what the Father must have felt as He placed His Son in the hands of sinful men, bent on destruction, and ultimately into the hands of the Devil himself. However, there is one thing I do know: He was not anxious, worried, or afraid. He knew that once all things had been worked together for good, every knee would bow, and every tongue would confess, that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

While I do not know the future God has planned, I do know that He is good and has promised to freely give all things to those who love Him. I cannot take away Timothy’s pain, but I can ask the Lord to take away my anxiety as I trust Him to take care of this beloved little boy whom we both love more than life itself, and to bring glory to God through all things.

God's Path

Psalm 16:11, "You will show me the path of life; In Your presence is fullness of joy; At Your right hand are pleasures forevermore."

When I was a new Christian, I envisioned joy as an end product resulting from fulfillment of my earthly dreams. Like a genie in a bottle, I dictated to God the path I wanted to walk, and expected happiness to result when He made it come true.

Now that I have experienced the disappointments, troubles, and inequities of life, I understand that God's path is less about what happens physically on earth, and more about what happens eternally in my heart and in His kingdom. Psalm 37:5-6 says, "Commit your way to the Lord, Trust also in Him, And He shall bring it to pass." Bring what to pass? My will? My ideas of what will make me happy? No, it says, "He shall bring forth your righteousness as the light, And your justice as the noonday." God's path is about growing a Christlike righteousness in His children that radiates so bright that the darkness cannot overcome it.

I consider the path of the Israelites as they wandered in the desert. Why did God bring them on this toilsome journey? Deuteronomy 8:2-4 says, "the Lord your God led you all the way these forty years in the wilderness, to humble you and test you, to know what was in your heart, whether you would keep His commandments or not." Their path was not for their temporal fulfillment, but rather for the sifting of their character, to see if they would trust God and give glory to Him alone.

Psalm 23:3-4 describes God's way as the path of righteousness. His path is a spiritual one, of right living, of death to sin and life to God. He guides us down it "for His name's sake;" His leading is for the glory of His name. Isaiah 48:10-11 says, "...I have tested you in the furnace of affliction. For My own sake, for My own sake, I will do it; For how should My name be profaned? And I will not give My glory to another." Indeed, the path of Psalm 23 goes "Through the valley of the shadow of death..." As so often is with the Lord, the gateway to life is death itself. Christ's path was laden with sorrow, pain, and the cross. Why should I think that my path would differ? Did I not agree to take up my cross and follow Him?

So much of my life is wasted in anxiety, unthankfulness, and joylessness, when all the while I have full access to the presence of almighty God at every turn. The curtain to the Holy of Holies has been torn in two, and by the blood of Christ I may enter with boldness. In His presence is fullness of joy. Through God's glory is my fulfillment and satisfaction. And God is most glorified when I, like Job, like Christ, trust, obey, and honor Him in the midst of affliction. This is the path of life. This is the path of joy.

God's Love

Stayed upon Jehovah,
Hearts are fully blest
Finding, as He promised,
Perfect peace and rest.

Late the other night I stepped into my daughter’s room where she was nestled in her crib. She stirred a bit as I gathered her in my arms and held her close, nursing her back to sleep. Before I laid her back down, I stopped to gaze at her tiny face. Her breath was warm and sweet on my shoulder, her lips pink and still, her eyes peaceful and at rest. And for those few moments, I was able to see her through the window of God’s eyes: perfect.

It didn’t make any difference that she has webbed toes, or wakes me up at night, or that she cries a lot, or hasn’t learned to crawl. The only thing that mattered, the only thing on which my love was based, was that she was my child.

I knew the next morning would bring a new day, full of tears, messes, dirty diapers, and the like. I knew that our special moment together would seem like a fairy tale amidst the mundane tasks of everyday life. I knew that I would lose my temper, sometimes speak sharply, grow weary, and again see her through my own fallen eyes and not God’s. But the perspective of our Lord does not change as does ours. If we are in Christ, he sees us always and forever, as perfect; because, when He looks at us, He sees His child.

So often I try to earn God’s favor, when all He requires of me to is to come in childlike dependence and rest. I toil to please Him when His favor is already mine. If I think I have fallen short, I punish myself with guilt when forgiveness has already been extended.  I doubt His unchanging love, supposing it is like mine.

I think of the prodigal son who squandered his father’s wealth and reputation with selfish, wild living. As a parent, how would I have reacted? Would I have been angry? Complaining? Scolding or correcting? But he was none of these. He cared for nothing but fellowship with his son. Yes, he was not worthy and barely deserved to be made like one of his hired men. But to that father, he had back his child. Instead of punishing him as his behavior deserved, he welcomed him with celebration and joy.

Dear God, I pray that I may be able to comprehend with all the saints what is the width and length and depth and height — to know the love of Christ which passes knowledge; that I may be filled with all the fullness of God.

Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us, to Him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever.

Amen.

 

Little Babies Can Do Big Things

We’ve all been there.

The baby poops, and you assume it’s going to be a standard, run-of-the-mill change.

This happened to me last night. My 9-month-old had the telltale smell, so I brought her to the couch for a new diaper. Normally I would use the changing table, but the rest of the clan was napping in the back, so I gathered my supplies and commenced. Then it happened.

You know, when you remove the innocent-looking stretchy pants and realize they are much, much heavier than they should be.

When you see poop, plastered all the way down one flailing limb.

When you stand back and marvel at how such a TINY BABY could produce THAT MUCH POOP.

And you realize: THIS WILL BE NO ORDINARY DIAPER CHANGE.

So there we were: my precious baby dangling by one soiled leg, me fumbling for a wipe. And of course, all the wipes were stuck in a big ball and would not fit through the hole. So I’m shaking the clump in its crackly casing, and my daughter hears it, and wants to reach for some of the action, but instead covers her hand in poop. Now, we all know the inevitable destination of all babies’ hands: THE MOUTH. Yes, so there I am, helpless, wipeless, and my little princess about to ingest E coli. In my panic I whip those puppies out a la Indiana Jones. Of course, now I can’t get them apart. Have you ever tried to get a string of wipes apart with one hand? Yeah. So I just use the whole line of them on my daughter. So what if I got poop on the couch? The cushions are brown. By now, of course, she is screaming, turning our little 1200-square-foot house into a cavernous noise tunnel and, I’m sure, waking the natives. When I realize that I need a few hundred more wipes to cover the rest of the damage, I notice that the other pouch is ALL THE WAY OVER THERE. Yes, I did the cardinal sin: I left my baby alone ON THE COUCH for 10 seconds. Sorry, What to Expect the First Year. I did not leave one hand on the baby during the entire change. Thank God she survived.

Finally, I get her little bottom back to its pink perfect self. I consider tossing the pants in the garbage. Sooooo much easier, right? But no, that would be a waste. So, two pairs of gloves, one change of trash, a gallon of dish soap, a slanted utility sink full of vinegar, a whole mess of sanitizing wipes, one load of laundry, and fifteen minutes later, I have victory.

This time.