I Remember

Twenty years ago today was a pivotal, life-altering day in my life.  I remember it like yesterday. 

I remember going to school and sitting in the gym...feeling like an elephant was on my chest.
I remember making it to first hour, and just needing to go home.
I remember my teacher, Miss Smith, mocked me and said to me, "Next time, come to school when you are healthy."
I remember my dad picking me up from school in the little black Nissan-full of irritation because he was in the middle of a bathroom remodel.  (He loathes house maintenance!)
I remember him sending me up to bed-you don't get to come home from school and play! 
I remember where my bed was-against the wall, in the corner. 
I remember hearing dad come up the stairs, thinking I was sleeping, and me making sure he heard me wheezing. 
I remember the doctor's office.  He checked my breathing, but no pneumonia, no pleurisy. 
I remember him walking out of the office to check a medical book.
I remember sitting on the table, looking at my dad, begging him to ask a question to the doctor.
I remember the little cup of water.
I remember the finger stick-I even remember the big meter they used.
I remember the doctor walking out again.
I remember my dad's tears...my heartbreak for his pain...and my confusion.
I remember going home to pack.
I remember the suitcase I used.
I remember my dad's phone call (from home...this was before cell phones!) to my mom, telling her we were going to Children's. 
I remember her response-thinking he was trying to cover for breaking one of the bathroom tiles she had bought!
I remember the plastic chair I sat in outside of the Admissions desk. 
I remember the bed, and the sudden amount of flurry.
I remember my first IV, the veins rolling, me trying to be still, the pain!
I remember Joan, my nurse.  "You can be anything you want to be, except a missionary...but why would you want to do that?!?" 
I remember the intern doctor I thought was awfully handsome.  (Give a girl a break...I was 13!)
I remember the visitors-I had a lot of visitors!
I remember the balloons-some even had my name on them.
I remember the teddy bear with the pacifier and the pens dad bought me.
I remember the praying bear Church bought, with satin angel wings.
I remember the hospital pull-out bed my mom slept in.
I remember the hourly arm or finger sticks they did.
I remember the team of doctors and nurses talking about how "lucky" I was-a few more hours, and I would have been in a coma, that would have caused my death.  
I remember waiting to be "cured," for when this crazy roller coaster could be over, and I could go back to drinking a Super-sized Mello Yello without trying to figure out how many carbs were in it. 

Like I said, a pivotal day in my life.  What I saw as punishment, God used as a refining fire to draw me to His desires for me.  To limit me, so I would have to listen to Him.  To help me to see how many abundant blessings He poured out on me.  To never take for granted life, and to appreciate the lives He graciously entrusted to me.  I learned that faith is not measured, the body will fail no matter how "healthy" we appear, and that we are only sustained each day by His loving, gracious, and sovereign Hand.  And I am grateful. 

To Cry or Not to Cry

It was a rough morning.  Saying anything different would be a pretty big lie.  He didn't want to get up.  He didn't want to get dressed.  He didn't want to eat.  He didn't want to brush his teeth or go to the bathroom.  He let me know loudly and with tears.  The list could go on, but I'm sure you get the idea.  We finally got out of the door, into the car, and drove the two minutes to school...edging on the late side, but close.  I prayed with him as we walked up to school, and he was settled for a moment.  A police officer was on the sidewalk, making sure kids and parents were following the street crossing rules.  I was going to stop and "introduce" Titus to him, I don't want him afraid of those who protect him!  As we walked by, Titus said, "Oh! Hello Officer!"  My surprise and joy bubbled right out of my mouth, and I didn't even care.  I was thrilled to the point of verbal exclamation that my precious boy knew, respected, and acknowledged the officer.  The officer greeted Titus, they shook hands (melt my heart!!!), and then we proceeded on. 

As we neared his entrance door, things started going south.  I got down on my knees, and held him.  Another prayer, some back rubbing, and a few kisses to try to calm him and let him know how much I love him.  Then, we sat on the sidewalk, waiting for his teacher.  She came out along with one the extra staff assigned to the room.  Titus was ready to run-pacing, crying, and verbalizing his desire to go home.  I looked to one of them, and asked her what they would prefer I do.  She told me to leave him there, and walk away.  I cannot express the vice-grip fear took at that moment.  If you've ever had a strong child run away, or watched an unknowing toddler run in front of a car, then you will know the almost paralyzing amount of fear I had.  I walked away, terrified at any moment I would see him darting toward the street.  As I walked down the sidewalk, other mom's were discussing their child's new friends in class.  The majority were in his class, but no one brought up his name.  So, I braced my shoulders, and walked as quickly to my car as I could.  Don't cry, not yet.  

An eternity later, I got to the car.  Breathe deep, don't cry, be tough.  I kept thinking this to myself over and over.  A moment later, a still and small voice chastened me.  Bring your tears to Jesus.  I think it will be one of those moments I will never forget.  For the first time in my life, I realized Jesus was waiting for me to crumple into His arms.  He completely knew and understood the heart-wrenching pain of a hurt child who is not relating to his peers.  I did not have to bare them alone.  I didn't even have to just, "take His hand."  I could fall-weak, broken, afraid...terrified, into His waiting arms, and He would comfort as only He can.  So, I cried.  Not the puffy-faced "poor me" cry, but a joy-filled release that let Jesus heal.  I'm sure I cannot put into adequate words how freeing it was to know that I am incredibly "not tough" and Jesus wants me that way-and meets me right where my knees fail (even when I'm sitting up and driving a car).