Before the Sun Rises

It's 4:09 am according to my trusty netbook's internal clock. Brady decided he wanted to eat about 45 minutes ago and much to my chagrin, I've been up ever since. Not just 'sort of awake', but full on up, thinking my usual muddled thoughts and trying to process a lot of ideas and concepts and feelings that my poor, tired, numb mind cannot handle in one stroke. So yeah: I'm here, if only primarily in body.

A lot of this will probably seem repetitive if you've kept up with me at all over the course of this blog's existence. Sorry about that; I think part of walking this path is repeating oneself at times, and having others there to hear you do it.

The feelings of being left behind have again resurfaced in recent days. I was warned early on by a friend with a like experience under her belt that at some point, my outward support system would weaken; that the numbers and expressions would dwindle. I should stop right here and say that I still don't begrudge anyone else for moving forward with life: It's good and right to enjoy the blessings God has given you. It's just that I was very spoiled early on in the journey with notes and calls and a veritable shower of well-wishes that I now feel, for lack of a better term, lonely. A lot of folks who were very vocal supporters early on have faded into the background, and since I'm being straightforward, I often wonder if I did something wrong or offensive that drove them away. I know I'll get at least one 'don't be silly! That's not it at all! response, but I do wonder. And I do thank you all for continuing to read and to pray, even if I can't see you doing those things.

And of course, to everyone who is still a vocal supporter (cookie-sender, meal-maker, encouragement-giver, all of you), I offer my sincerest thank you for handing me cups of water as I run this race of endurance. It's all I have to give, but I hope it's enough, and I hope you know how much your presence means to me on a personal level.

As for day to day life, we're here. All six of us, for the time being. It's been exhausting dealing with all four kids, but still good. Logan has been as normal as ever of late, which is a blessing. He's not as sweet as in times past, but he's here. He's still wowing me with his expansive vocabulary. Adam shared a funny tale with me about that very subject a few days ago. While he was at CHO, he was playing with one of his nurse's farm animal flashlights. When he shone the beam on his blanket, he mused aloud that it made an interesting impression on the fabric. An interesting impression. At age four. I know adults who don't know what impression means. Adam said that the nurses were amazed; I was amazed, too. Of course, I'm continually amazed by him and what he's able to accomplish... and endure. And I hope and pray that I'll get to continue to be amazed by him well into the future, even if my prayers aren't as fervent and frequent as they once were. That last bit is embarrassing to admit, but I'm just so mentally spent that I have a hard time connecting with God. Sad, but true.

We're just a handful of days away from the third MRI and I'm feeling bubbles of nervous anticipation beginning to spill over. While I'm not scared of what it will reveal, per se, I am afraid of being disappointed. I want to avoid surgery so badly that I can't even express the depth of the emotion in words. When I think of another surgery, my heart is almost immediately gripped by pure, untempered fear. I made it through the first surgery back on August 20th because I was securely wrapped in a blanket of shock, but with the shock value gone, the reality of neurosurgery is so intense, so cold, so striking. And so able to fill my heart to overflowing with fear of the worst kind.

Of course, even as I type, I feel a twinge of relief. After all, God and fear don't co-exist, so what do I have to fear? A lot. I'm still human. So I fear someone poking around in my little sunshine's brain, manipulating tissue and picking apart problem areas. The whole idea makes me cringe, even if I should just let it go. Even if I should just have faith that we'll get through it all. To quote a country song that's a decade or two old, I do... but I don't.

So where does all of this leave me? Just... here. And asking for prayers once again, as I've done from day one. Please pray for peace for all of us. For positive news from the MRI on February 1st. God knows my feelings on surgery so my personal prayer is that he won't need another go at it; lest he should, the date would be February 8th. Please also pray for good health and unity in our home; Abby has the sniffles and has had a very up and down sort of week, and I noticed Isaac's nose running yesterday. Primarily, we need Logan to stay well so he won't fall behind with his treatment protocol. For me... I just keep coming back to peace. Peace, peace, peace. Between the screaming, shouting children and the baby with the food issues, I haven't had much of it lately. And it takes a toll on my well-being.

Finally, as always, please pray for Logan's complete healing on this side of Heaven and protection from relapse. (If I've learned anything at all over the past half-year, it's that I need to be specific with these requests!) I believe that God heals, fully and completely and miraculously. I look at the paralytic with the devoted friends, at Jairus' daughter, at the lepers by the fountain. There are so many scriptural cases of healing and I claim them all as I walk this path. I want to cry hysterically on Logan's first day of kindergarten. I want to do it all over again when he graduates from high school, goes off to college, gets married... all of those things that as parents, we take for granted will happen from the moment we hear our child's first cry after birth.

Thank you for supporting us and for being a member of Logan's team. Blessings to you.