What are we doing here Lord? Why have you brought us back to this place?
We attend the clinic for Sam's Heart check...inwardly we cringe but keep bright and cheery, keeping Sam excited to meet his new doctor.
I feel sick but I smile, because I have just seen the faces of so many parents who are broken and weary, wafting in and out of the Heart ward with the 'hospital look' that says, 'I am existing, but I am a shell.'
As we sit and wait in the waiting room, a teenage girl sits across from us, cannula still in her arm, she has tears sliding down her face and hangs her head low, she is broken. Can anyone see her?
Where are you Lord? She needs you?
We go and Sam has his ECG and Echo. He is so brave and climbs up onto the bed by himself, he even helps remove the stickers. I encourage him to lay still so they can take a good reading.
I'm holding on to you Lord.
We wait for another half an hour to see his new doctor. We greet and Sam is happy to meet 'Dr Foormer' (Dr Andreas Pflaumer). He tells us that Sam is doing fine, that all is well. Then, that the leak in his tricuspid valve has increased and that if it has not changed over the next 6 months then intervention may be needed. That they want to start talking about the Catheter and the Fontan, because we are talking about going North in the next few years. Through the doctors eyes this makes sense, I can see his reasoning. But I am not a doctor, and I am not reasonable about anything that means that my son must endure more pain.
What! Where are you Jesus? Is this your idea of a miracle? Do I have to see him endure more pain? Do We have to endure more pain? I know you can take all of this way by just a word from your lips. So where are your words? Surely this is not your plan for us.
We walk back to the car in silence, buying coffee from nasty McDonalds to get home.
As we drive home, the ache in my throat intensifies...
I can't do this anymore, I am weary from the fight God, not just weary, I have had enough. I don't want to hold onto the hem of your garment anymore, it hurts too much. You know I don't have the strength to endure this again. My spirit is crushed by the thoughts engulfing me, and cannot be made right by human hands.
I see a picture of a hand coming out of the heavens dangling a white hankie, the miracle we need, and me jumping like crazy to reach it, but it is just out of reach. I think I jumped most of the way home in the car. The ache moved from my throat to my heart, as I look at Sam asleep in his car seat, worn out from the big morning.
I am sorry Lord, I can't do this anymore. I am meant to go on TV tomorrow and talk about the God of miracles, and I am not feeling that right now. I am feeling angry, and like I am about to suffocate.
When we arrive home I slept for two hours. I had nothing left.
When I awake and as I write He speaks:
Remain in me, you have tasted of my goodness and you know I will no let you go. Remember the new promise that I have given you. Claim it today and watch the new day come. You may broken now, but it will not last for ever:
Restore our fortunes. Lord
as the streams flow in the desert.
Those who plant in tears
will harvest with shouts of joy.
They weep as they go to plant their seed,
But they sing as they return with the harvest.
So this is where we are, right now at 4pm in the afternoon. Pray that God can heal my ache, so that I may go and tell the world how great He is. For He is above all things, even when I don't FEEL like it.
As I write this I have a voice whispering to me that 'the result was favourable, that I have no right to complain, and that there are many others out there that are far worse off than what we are'. I would like to say that each of us is on our own journey, and despite the fact that we are all in different places, does not diminish the fact that the battle is any less real, or hurtful or significant. God bless you for praying for us when we really need it.