What Really Hurts

There are few things that keep me from tending to writing and sharing on this space.  One of those things happened this week.  On Sunday, July 1st, my youngest son (8) began having mild asthma symptoms, most likely due to being around fireworks and all of that acrid, metal-heavy smoke.  By Monday evening we had him in a local ER.  By midnight, he had been admitted to that hospital.  Within just a few hours he was being life-flighted via helicopter to Children's Mercy Hospital in Kansas City.  I left by car and arrived 20 minutes before he did and was able to meet him as the flight medics brought him to his room.  Mommy, via a separate ride from the other hospital, arrived soon after.  Time: 5:00 AM, Tuesday morning.

(In the PICU I marvel that even a few short decades ago, our son probably wouldn't have survived this asthma.  In fact, he wouldn't have even survived his first few weeks of life due to his ARPKD.)

It's now Saturday afternoon, July 7th, and my son is still in the hospital. However, it looks as if he'll be coming home tomorrow.  This past week has been a blur, and even while we watched our boy make progress toward health everyday, we could not escape the nagging discomfort of seeing that child in pain and distress.  Children should not be sick.  I hate it.  Like, a lot.

But with all my heart I believe my son is learning things through this illness (and the complications of ARPKD) that I will never understand, but through which the Lord will enrich his life.  I really believe that.  I know and can see already that the Lord speaks to this ornery little boy in ways that are unique to him.  I can't stand that he suffers, but what I'm sure of is that there is a sure, sovereign Hand involved in his life, and in just a little bit of time, these tents we're living in will be fixed up for good.