Prayers, Music and Inspiration, Oh My

It's not often that I find myself so filled with things to say that I can't even begin, but that's where I am right now. Do I start with the morning ruminations I skipped because of the proximity of Isaac's peaceful slumber? The afternoon tears followed by yet more in the evening and then those ever-so-carefully placed bits of unexpected encouragement that popped up out of nowhere? Or maybe with Abby's surprising and mature-for-6-years-old comments that grabbed me by the heart and sucked the breath right out of my chest?

I'll go with door number three, if only because they may well be the most salient soundbytes I have to share this evening. I took the afternoon off from CHO today. Not because I wanted to, but because my body, to put it simply, just can't take the roaming around anymore. Adam came home at 1 after being relieved by his mom, and I got a chance to take a nap while he entertained Abby and Isaac. This evening we headed en masse to Oakland, where we had dinner and then stopped by the hospital for a quick visit. As I guided the van onto highway 24 post-visit and I breathed in a quick moment of quiet silence, Abby spoke. And her words took me by such forceful surprise that I almost had to pull the car over.

I know you wish Jesus walked on the Earth so he could touch Logan and heal him. I do.

Out of the mouth of my 6-year old. I was absolutely stunned for a moment, but then agreed with her statement. We went on to talk about God and Jesus and trials and faith and prayer, and then she faded into silence for most of the ride home. I figured that was the end of the discussion, but I was wrong.

As we headed upstairs for bedtime, Abby lagged behind me on the staircase. It was late, and I felt my patience waning. I told her to hurry, and what did she do instead? She stopped in her tracks. Just as I was getting ready to give her a verbal smack, she quietly said

I was crying in the car a little on the way home.

And I stopped.

Why?

Because I miss Logan and I wish he was here and I wish that he didn't have to go back to the Children's Hospital ever.

I agreed with her, and then she added something that struck me even more:

I don't ever want to have to have one of those 'in memory of' thingys.

I was puzzled for a moment, and then realized she referred to the dedication stones that line the front entrance to CHO. And it broke my heart. I've seen those stones, too, and silently prayed that we'd never, ever need one. But Abby is six, not 32. My daughter thinks a lot. She sees everything, internalizes everything, and rarely shares her heart, but when she does, I realize how very much all of this effects her, too. And it's essential that I remember how hard it is for her to cope with what's happening to her best friend and playmate. As the mom, it's so easy to forget, but I know I can't do that. I should've known it was plaguing her as it does me; after all, her own prayers have become more urgent and more pressed over time. Her 'please heal Logan' has morphed into 'please, please, please heal Logan'. While still simplistic, of course, the meaning runs from a place of emotional depth and feeling that I can't really fathom.

So that's door number three. Let's look behind door number two next.

I've struggled this cycle with believing and with having faith. I don't really know why; could be, as I've mentioned previously, that the baby is coming SOON and I have no idea how it'll work out. It could be the new methotrexate routine. It could just be my usual doubts creeping back in and trying to destroy my hope and my joy. Or it could be a combination of all of those things working together to attempt to create havoc.

In the midst of all of my doubts and fears, I've heard this message several times -- and distinctly -- over the course of the past few days:

Do you trust Me?

And I had to really think on it. Do I? DO I? It's a hard question to answer. On one hand, yes, because there's really nowhere else to turn. And because we've seen amazing and wonderful things so far along the course of this journey.

On the other, I still harbor fears and worries and concerns. I'm still living a nightmare. I still hear about others' 'nightmares' and have to bite my tongue as I struggle not to say 'well, at least you're not the 9-months-pregnant mom of 3 whose 4-year old is battling aggressive brain cancer; who sees her husband maybe 2 hours a day; who has no idea how she'll cope when said unplanned baby arrives and who has no idea how her life wound up so horribly upside down over the course of just a few months'. It's hard to have faith when you feel like you're being screwed over. But then again, that's really the essence of having faith in the first place: Continuing to believe despite your circumstances, despite hard times, despite hopeless-looking situations presenting themselves at awful, inconvenient times.

So I guess I'd say that my response to the question posed has been 'yes, but I fear what You're doing'.

And of course, it wasn't left alone. This evening was jam-packed with a string of reassurances that not even half-glass-empty ole me can ignore or write off. First, on the drive home, after my conversation with my astute daughter concluded, I heard no fewer than three different songs that contained some variation of the words 'it'll be okay again' or 'it's okay', that despite the fact that I wasn't really even listening; I was more sitting in the silence, watching my fellow travelers navigate their own journeys, and mulling over my own feelings over sadness over my fractured family. The last song was completely new to me, and it was playing as I turned into the driveway. Just before I cut the engine, I heard the singer, a Blake Wise, croon the following:

Cause the sun is out
And it feels like heaven's shining down
It's clearer now and everything's going to be all right

Although it was indeed pitch black out, the sprinkling of irony -- or perhaps just truth -- comes from the fact that what had previously been a rainy evening had turned clear for our trip home.

But that wasn't all. Abby chose to read Bible stories at bedtime, and opted to go with our customary random route. And surprise, surprise: The theme of the evening became healing, faith and prayer, across both the Old and New Testaments. We read about the healing of Naaman, the healing of the 10 lepers, the healing of Jairus' daughter and the woman of faith, the raising of Lazarus, God hearing the prayers of the people of Ninevah and deciding to save them. It was truly a parade of God's amazing handiwork with the earthly health of humankind, all laid out for me to soak up like a sponge. I think just one of those stories alone would've been enough to bring tears to my eyes and reassurance to my pained heart, so it was utterly overwhelming to read them one after another after another in such 'random' fashion.

So that's door number two. Door number one takes me back to this morning. I've again entered a phase where I feel like I'm wandering in the wilderness. I'm on a path, yes, but I have no idea where it's going. And not only that, but I can see the freeway from where I am. It's frustrating to be meandering down a badly rutted little dirt road while everyone else I know is on an expressway to holiday fun; enjoying those celebrations and their families. It's hard to not feel forgotten when you've your entire body pressed up against a grindstone. Just please keep remembering Logan. Sometimes I just feel like 'It's okay if you forget about me, but please remember my little boy and pray for him to be completely healed. If you do nothing else for me this holiday season, please do that'. I hope that doesn't come across as a gripe or a complaint; it's more of a reminder that we're still here, still coping, still dealing, still praying, still... everything we've been doing since August 15 when everything changed so very much.

Now for the actual update on my little sunshine. He started his methotrexate right on schedule this morning at 6:30 AM, so he's now finished receiving the medications for cycle 4. Please continue to pray for good and quick clearance. And of course, for extremely good response to the medications in general. He was very tired when we were there visiting this evening, but he enjoyed seeing Abby and Isaac, and really enjoyed it when Adam brought the book 'Everyone Poops' from the playroom for an encore reading. Apparently the pair read it this morning and Logan was thoroughly amused.

He threw up several times today and is generally uninterested in food, but to me, he looked better today than he had on any other previous day 4, so I'm thankful for that and pray for more of the same entering this coming week. As for other prayer requests, I have a few. Please pray for Abby as she copes with the upheaval and her emotions. She's so young to be dealing with a challenge of this magnitude and I'm just so mad that she's been robbed of so much simplicity in her childhood. Please pray that it won't harden her heart or hurt her spirit. And of course, I pray the same things for Logan as well. It would be very easy for him to emerge from this as a bitter person, but I've been encouraged by the heartiness and resilience he's shown throughout treatment thus far. He's truly an inspiration.

In addition, please pray for wisdom for the doctors and nurses at CHO. It's easy for me to get angry when things go wrong, but it's so much easier to ask for prayers for them to try to head off errors. :) So that's what I'll do.

Have a wonderful week. Blessings to all of you and yours.