"And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, establish and strengthen you."
I Peter 5:10
That verse came up on my daily Bible app during the early part of Henry's Health Scare. I posted it then, shared it with him when Pastor Chris Thomas from First Presbyterian Church came by (Henry nodded and gave me the 'thumbs up' when he heard it) and I've reflected on it often in the past several weeks. I did not, at first, truly come to terms with it.
When you're looking down on your stricken child, 'a little while' is an eternity. I wasn't ready to think about restoration. I was too wrapped up in the suffering. There were plenty of moments during those early days of helpless fear and anger and worry when I gave the chapel at Mott Children's Hospital a wide berth--certain that if I had gone inside, I would have tried to pick a fight with God.
I put on a brave face. I stayed positive. I prayed. I reassured. I asked you all for help. Inside? I questioned. I wondered why it would happen, how it could happen to him--he is a good kid, blameless and strong, kind and goofy. I didn't feel strong, at all.
But the key to that verse is actually in the one ahead of it, which speaks to the fact that the experience of suffering is required of everyone throughout the world. Nobody can dodge that particular bullet forever.
So if suffering is universal so, then, is restoration and growth. We're not quite there yet. Tomorrow (almost today, as I write this) will mark our second week home after 34 days in the hospital. I wonder what we've learned, how we've grown.
His health has improved. The dressing changes are not a two-person job any more. We had a follow up visit today (yesterday) with the surgeons and learned that even those kinds of bandages aren't needed any more. He could be stitch-free in a two weeks. He's getting caught up on school work, too.
His spirits? Fortunately, they are more up than down, but there are times when I sit with him as he tries to drift off to sleep and he asks me some of those same questions I asked. What did I do to deserve this? Why did this happen? 'Nothing,' I answer to the first and 'I don't know.' or 'We'll see one day' to the others.
That's where faith comes in. It's about being thankful for the restoration before it comes, or being grateful for the answers before you know what they are.
Showing posts with label New Perspective. Show all posts
Showing posts with label New Perspective. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Resisting normal
Things have settled down here now, 11 days into what I will call Henry's Health Scare. The initial days of panic and worry are beyond us and he is resting more comfortably now--and more often, now that the doctors, nurses and lab technicians don't have to come check in as often.
We are officially in Phase II. The real danger has passed and our goal now is to keep him rested and help him heal (apparently by filling him with protein) in order to get to Phase III, which is home. I guess you would call Phase II the eye of the storm. Recovery will be long and, at times, frustrating. I think we'll be in the hospital for another two weeks, possibly three, and face an additional month or two at home before things return to normal.
Henry's spirits are good, his strength humbling. He is handling this with more grace than most adults would. I can only imagine what's going on in his 13-year-old brain as he lays in his bed, subject to frequent pokes and prods and general biological intrusions at an age when most people aren't too sure of themselves to begin with.
We have settled into a routine; we have a few sets of clothes folded and kept as much out of the way as possible. There are laundry facilities here. We've made trips home and are working on a regular schedule. I've even set up a make shift work station consisting of my laptop, a wooden folding chair with a pad for the seat, a headlight so I can work while Lisa and Henry sleep, and an small hospital tray that doubles as a desk stop and dining table. I call it the Writer Cave--Mott Annex.
It is a strange thing. You're trying to get a handle on your life, the day-to-day responsibilities (the bills, the pets, the day job, etc.) while pondering the big picture issues, like making sure Henry doesn't have any long term scars (physical or mental, knowing we have no power over the physical ones). You want to get a good system going, yet you don't want it to feel normal. You don't want to get used to it.
It also gives you a lot of time to think, and I've been thinking a lot about faith and family. I know that we have been blessed: we live in a great community, Henry goes to great schools, has good friends, I have a great job with compassionate people and, although things are generally tight, we don't want for anything.
We can tend to take simple things like that for granted, and forget to thank God for the things we don't have to worry about, even as we ask Him for strength to handle the things we do worry about. Family is like that, too. Even before this Health Scare erupted, one of my goals was to spend more quality time with the family (part of my three-tiered goal to reconnect and re-engage with family, friends and faith). Now it feels even more important.
Technology is a wonderful thing, but it can be counterproductive to the family unit. The same devices that allow us to connect to the outside world--friends, information, inane games or other distractions--can hinder the kind of real communication we need with those closest to us. We would frequently reach for our tablets or smart phones or head to the computer as soon as dinner was over. Not any more. We will carve out more time for the simple things that are more important.
We're still not sure how this happened. Perhaps we will never know what started the infection that brought us here. The 'whys' are coming into focus, however, and this is one of the lessons we'll take home.
We are officially in Phase II. The real danger has passed and our goal now is to keep him rested and help him heal (apparently by filling him with protein) in order to get to Phase III, which is home. I guess you would call Phase II the eye of the storm. Recovery will be long and, at times, frustrating. I think we'll be in the hospital for another two weeks, possibly three, and face an additional month or two at home before things return to normal.
Henry's spirits are good, his strength humbling. He is handling this with more grace than most adults would. I can only imagine what's going on in his 13-year-old brain as he lays in his bed, subject to frequent pokes and prods and general biological intrusions at an age when most people aren't too sure of themselves to begin with.
We have settled into a routine; we have a few sets of clothes folded and kept as much out of the way as possible. There are laundry facilities here. We've made trips home and are working on a regular schedule. I've even set up a make shift work station consisting of my laptop, a wooden folding chair with a pad for the seat, a headlight so I can work while Lisa and Henry sleep, and an small hospital tray that doubles as a desk stop and dining table. I call it the Writer Cave--Mott Annex.
It is a strange thing. You're trying to get a handle on your life, the day-to-day responsibilities (the bills, the pets, the day job, etc.) while pondering the big picture issues, like making sure Henry doesn't have any long term scars (physical or mental, knowing we have no power over the physical ones). You want to get a good system going, yet you don't want it to feel normal. You don't want to get used to it.
It also gives you a lot of time to think, and I've been thinking a lot about faith and family. I know that we have been blessed: we live in a great community, Henry goes to great schools, has good friends, I have a great job with compassionate people and, although things are generally tight, we don't want for anything.
We can tend to take simple things like that for granted, and forget to thank God for the things we don't have to worry about, even as we ask Him for strength to handle the things we do worry about. Family is like that, too. Even before this Health Scare erupted, one of my goals was to spend more quality time with the family (part of my three-tiered goal to reconnect and re-engage with family, friends and faith). Now it feels even more important.
Technology is a wonderful thing, but it can be counterproductive to the family unit. The same devices that allow us to connect to the outside world--friends, information, inane games or other distractions--can hinder the kind of real communication we need with those closest to us. We would frequently reach for our tablets or smart phones or head to the computer as soon as dinner was over. Not any more. We will carve out more time for the simple things that are more important.
We're still not sure how this happened. Perhaps we will never know what started the infection that brought us here. The 'whys' are coming into focus, however, and this is one of the lessons we'll take home.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)