A few weeks ago, we met with our doctor at National Jewish for the first time. She is a kind, thorough, German woman who clearly knows her stuff. As we dove deeper into Joseph’s medical history, she looked up at me at one point and very gently but seriously said, “I think that your son has probably been in pain his whole life.” It felt like a blow to the gut, but in the midst of moving in and caring for our family, I haven’t truly processed what she said. I tucked her words away, but today, like a tidal wave, they rose to the surface.

After reading the story of Susannah Baker, another mom with a child struggling with health issues, I’ve let myself go there for the first time…Remembering the early years with Joseph when he was often inconsolable…Remembering how hard it was to figure out what was going on and clearly being so far off from what was really the issue. Remembering the unkind words of well-meaning but also clueless people who encouraged us to spank him and to let him “cry it out”. Remembering the nights I slept close to make sure that he was breathing well…Remembering the moments of utter frustration when nothing that I did would sooth him or meet his needs…Remembering the sweet respites when he was pain and medicine free, and we saw bigger glimpses of who he really is…Remembering the dashed hope when we had to return to higher doses of medication that wasn’t even doing what he needed…

I clearly haven’t made much progress in my processing. The truth is that this post is my maiden voyage. But I am inspired by the words that I read last night by Sue Monk Kidd

“When we share our inner stories, we allow others to enter our lives and partake of our deepest truths. We discover that we share the same joys and tragedies, the same ambiguities and struggles…For who has not come upon a season when the water of the soul is disturbed? And does not God meet each of us as we brave the swirling dark in search of wholeness. God, the sublime storyteller, calls us into the passion of telling our tale. But creating personal spiritual stories is an act of soul-making that does not happen automatically. It comes only as we risk stepping into the chaos of our lives and naming the angels that inhabit the shadows. It comes as we give expression to our struggle for individual meaning, identity, and truth, as we wrestle with angels, both light and dark, and celebrate the places where God stirs. In the crucible of story we become artists of meaning. There we meet God most surely.”

Thank you Susanna Baker for sharing your story. I have no idea who you are or where you and Lillian live, but I thank God for you tonight.

We took our eldest daughter, Lillian, to the doctor today.  Lillian is only 3 ½ years old, yet in her short, three years of life, she has been in her fair share of doctors’ offices.  Thankfully, she has never had any sort of life-threatening illness, but the Lord seems to use medical ailments in her life to draw her to Himself and to continually remind my husband and me that Lillian does not belong to us, but to Him. 
 
So today’s visit was no different.  In one way, it was routine.  I knew what to pack in the medium-sized canvas bag I always take to Lillian’s doctor visits.  It had its fair share of pictures for her to color, books for us to read, and snacks for us to share during the invariable wait that lay ahead.  And, as always, Lillian was a champ.  She was polite and cooperative with the doctor, made each of the nurses smile, and left with a lollipop in one hand and her daddy’s hand in the other.
 
Yet the diagnosis was different.  In the past, we have received news about Lillian concerning her lungs, her heart, and her brain.  Today the diagnosis concerned her hearing.  Off and on, for the past several months, my husband and I have wondered if Lillian’s hearing was impaired or if it was only a chronic case of three-year-old “selective hearing.”  But the doctor confirmed that Lillian has fluid build-up in her inner-ear, which causes her to hear the world around her as if two fingers were stuffed into each side of her head.  She doesn’t hear soft sounds, and at times it is difficult for her to hear loud sounds.  And what we, in the past, have thought was just an ability unique to her personality to focus well on the task at hand could very well be a by-product of her inability to hear.  She has learned to shut off the world without and retreat within, to a place she can hear.
 
Thankfully, Lillian’s hearing problem is easily fixed.  With minor surgery, the doctor will drain the fluid, place tubes in her ears, and remove her adenoids (part of the lymph node system), and Lillian’s hearing should be as good as new in no time.
 
Yet as I pulled home into the driveway, unloaded the canvas bag, and tucked Lillian into her bed for her nap, I felt an ache tugging at the edges of my thankfulness.  I remembered the countless times she asked me, “Mommy, please turn the music up,” and my saying, “No, Lillian, you can hear the music; it is loud enough.” I recalled my frustration at having to repeat directions four or five times, the last time with impatience in my tone and frustration in my eyes.  And I could hear myself calling her name for the tenth time when her back was turned to me, inevitably ending in me saying in a rising tone, “Lillian!  LISTEN to me!” when all the time she could not hear what I was saying. 
 
I remembered all of these things, and the ache in my heart made its way to tears in my eyes as I reflected upon all the ways my Heavenly Father has responded to the deafness in my heart through the years.  He never shows frustration and impatience when I do not listen. He does not shout at me, or turn away from me, or give up on me.  He stands at the door and gently knocks until I can hear. And when the hurt or pain of life or the sorrow and consequences of sin have deafened my ears to His Voice, He calls my name in love until I respond once again.
 
My only response was, and is, “Thank You.  Thank You for being the Parent who always loves, always protects, always hopes, always forgives, always patiently understands.  Forgive me for all of the ways I have hurt Lillian and You because I have not been willing to follow Your example.”
 
So I am thankful. Thankful for doctors who are willing to use their God-given knowledge and skills to heal.  Thankful for easy access to the Medical Center and for the vast array of doctors and specialists there.  I am thankful for a child who sweetly responds to all of the ways God has chosen to draw her to Himself.  I am thankful for my husband who never misses an appointment and never fails to first  fall to his knees, and then to comfort, console, and yet be an immovable rock all at the same time.  And I am thankful for my God who loves my child enough to place His mark and His Hand upon her.  For my God who is faithful to remind us that Lillian is His, not ours.  And for my God who patiently and lovingly parents me, even when, and especially when, I cannot hear.
 

“Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless his holy name! Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits, who forgives all your iniquity, who heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit, who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy, who satisfies you with good so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.”  Psalm 103:1-5

 

 

 

Filed under Uncategorized