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What Parents Live By
It’s no different for us parents. We think we know ourselves, our spouses, our kids, and can mastermind an idyllic family life. But of course things don’t ever go according to plan and there are always trials and tribulations we never anticipate. And that’s ok, because it’s in those dark times God reveals Himself to us and teaches us powerful lessons about the parent/child relationship. I learned this firsthand several years ago when my oldest son, Roman, became suddenly and seriously ill. He was 12 at the time and what seemed to be a simple bout with the flu ended up landing him in Children’s Hospital in Washington, DC. After numerous tests, the doctors found that Roman had a lesion on his brainstem that was slowly destroying various functions as it grew. They couldn’t say what caused it, and worse --- they didn’t know how to stop it from spreading. Roman was admitted to the hospital for treatment with no resolution in sight. My husband Dan and I would “switch off” between staying with Roman and caring for our two younger children. One of us would remain at the hospital while the other drove the 45 minutes back home to stay the night with the little ones, then we would swap roles the next day. It was a scary and stressful time and we didn’t want the children to be overly upset, so Dan and I agreed we would never cry or show fear in front of them. We did all our sobbing in the car on the way to and from Roman’s hospital bed. And of course we prayed, constantly --- not as much that Roman would be healed, but that we would have the strength to accept whatever happened as part of God’s plan for our family. Despite the staff’s best efforts, Roman grew worse every day. He was continuously unconscious and had to be fed through a tube. Nothing was slowing the lesion’s spread, and we were running out of options. He was slipping away and no one knew how to stop it. One of his doctors gently told us “you need to emotionally prepare yourselves for all possible outcomes,” then handed me the card of the hospital’s “grief and loss counselor.” “If he does survive,” she added, “he’ll have permanent brain damage. We don’t know how severe it will be, but he won’t be able to return to school this year, and may never go back to a normal life.” Just as I was about to leave for the night, the neurologist told us Roman would have to be moved to intensive care. The lesion was destroying Roman’s ability to breathe on his own—he would need a ventilator to keep him alive, and even that might not work. Upon hearing this, my strong, stoic, 6’4” husband broke down and cried uncontrollably. “I know I promised I wouldn’t do this,” he said through sobs as he clutched Roman’s hand, “but I can’t help it. I just can’t help it.” Roman’s time in I.C.U. was a blur. He looked so helpless attached to a half dozen wires and surrounded by beeping monitors in that big, chaotic room portioned off by suspended curtains. When the doctors took Roman for tests, I would grab a few hours sleep in a chair in the waiting room. I was dozing when suddenly a nurse was shaking my shoulder and saying, “you need to come with me.” “What’s wrong?” I asked, terrified of what she would say. “Nothing,” she smiled. “Your son is awake and he’s asking for you.” Shocked and stunned, I ran to his bedside and sure enough, he was sitting up and looking miffed. His voice was scratchy and soft from days of non-use, but he clearly said, “I want to get out of here.” Laughing, I called Dan and said, “there’s someone here who wants to talk to you” and handed Roman the phone. After a brief conversation, Roman asked for a doughnut and fell back asleep, and I knew, just knew, he was going to make it. That was the beginning of a recovery that was nothing short of miraculous. Roman needed speech and physical therapy but amazed his doctors with his rapid progress. “I can’t explain it,” one therapist told us. “I’ve never seen a patient with his diagnosis come back so fast and so completely.” One month to the day after first becoming ill, Roman rejoined his 7th grade class and finished the school year on time and with honors. Two years later, Roman and I were watching a TV show about coma patients. He casually remarked that people who seem unconscious can often hear and understand what’s happening around them. I asked him why he thought that and he said during his hospitalization, he knew what was going on even though he couldn’t respond. I pressed him for details, and sure enough he recounted several conversations that had taken place at his bedside in Children’s Hospital while he appeared to be completely out of it. “What I remember most,” he said solemnly, “was the night Dad was crying and holding my hand.” My heart sank at the thought of how upset that must have made him. After all our careful attempts to keep from frightening him with our worries, he knew all along how dire things had been. Feeling like we had somehow let him down, I tentatively asked, “did that scare you?” Roman raised his eyebrows and replied, a bit surprised at my question, “No – it made me realize how much Dad loved me.” Moms and Dads—we don’t always have all the answers or know what’s best for our kids, but that’s fine. We have something much better—a Father who guides and bolsters us, who shows us how to share love with our own families. And a champion who takes our sorrows onto Himself and turns our tears into laughter. Love, trust and faith that God is in control no matter what—that’s what parents live by. |
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Copyright 2012 Miles Jesu. All rights reserved. | |
One of my favorite books is Tolstoy’s What Men Live By, the tale of an angel who God sends to earth to learn about the interaction between humans and the divine. The angel soon discovers that men think they control their earthly fate but in fact do not see “the big picture.” God alone is the architect of the complex intertwinings of the natural and supernatural, and our assumptions often take us down the wrong roads and leave us lost, requiring the love of our heavenly Father to set us right. 