A few things I’ve learned lately about FAITH

My ABC’s of survival continue

One of my favorite nurses in the CVICU (cardiac vascular intensive care unit) was Natalie. We had her as a night nurse after both of Sammy’s surgeries.

This series of my ABC’s of survival is meant to tell stories, bring hope to those who need it, showcase the support that saved me. Not to give advice.

Pardon this interruption. I have a little advice.

My advice to you if your child is in the hospital: make sure you are comfortable with the night nurses.

If you have a baby and he or she just had open-heart surgery, all the more.

Those first couple days after a major surgery are no semblance of a joke. We took a picture of our sweet Sammy following both surgeries, not to ever go public, but to help us remember. As I hope all my essays one day will help me remember. Take nothing and no one for granted. It’s the only way I know how to live now.

I wish Natalie could see him now.

When you’re a night nurse specializing in post-surgery, you have to think like a night nurse specializing in post-surgery. I loved her for how detailed and logical and attentive she was.

She is probably off helping another family make it and giving them hope that they can pass out for a couple hours without something happening to their baby. I know she is not reading this.

Still. Guess what, Natalie?

Sammy is becoming more feistier by the day, louder, more opinionated.

This is the best music to my ears.

He is sleeping without a monitor now.

I can rest without wondering if his numbers are going to suddenly drop.

A different mom will be asking you questions in the middle of the night.

This mom is now staying awake by choice, to write. I know, some moms never learn. Will never rest.

We love you Natalie.

Moving on, since Natalie isn’t reading this.

Here is something I don’t share all the time but want to share with the rest of you. Sammy has learned the secrets of life long before most of us do. You can tell by the way shots don’t bother him or an intense doctor visit is routine, or having four appointments in a day doesn’t totally wreck him the way it still would wreck me.

His resilience is so great, it makes me sad that he already learned it.

His resilience is so great, it makes me glad that he already learned it.

His ability to laugh and get a kick out of life even when it’s hard is unmatched by most adults.

Still, learning to take things in stride so early on came because he had to spend so much time doing things that were pretty un-fun.

It is the grace of God that we can learn and grow and become more alive in this life, and yet, I don’t think anyone wishes that kind of fight or plight for a baby.

At the same time, who am I to know if this drive inside Sammy to keep going, to hold on, to be brave, will be the very thing God uses in Sammy’s life for him to become who he will one day be.

I believe so many great things for both of my kids. More than anything, that they will run well the race set before them, and to live with hope and faith more than their eyes can see.

I know that faith is believing the unseen, especially after the last couple years we’ve had.

Whenever my faith is being shaken, whenever I have to stop and remember that there is so much more Jesus is doing beneath the surface of life, where we so often stay, I turn to the idea that writing and life are not so different.

I write fiction when I don’t normally write fiction. I tell stories and am bold like I’ve never been before. I ponder life and death and eternity and something bigger than this moment and am not afraid. I have manna for this day, these words, this surgery. I know I am not alone, and I know I’ll never be alone.

A.L. Doctorow said once said that ‘writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can see only as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.' You don't have to see where you're going, you don't have to see your destination or everything you will pass along the way. You just have to see two or three feet ahead of you. This is right up there with the best advice on writing, or life, I have ever heard. -Anne Lamott

Faith, the realization of what is hoped for (Hebrews 11:1).

This journey with Sammy has made me unashamed of what I hope for. For where else could I go? Who else has the words of everlasting life?

It hasn’t been a perfect couple of years by any means. But I would do it all again for the closeness with Jesus and gaining a deeper hope as I watched my baby get wheeled away to be cut open not one but two times in three months. It’s a hope that could not come from myself.

I anticipated talking about something different for letter F, but again, writing and life, not so different. You can only see the light right in front of you, and sometimes, that’s enough to lead the way.

Over the last week, my family started to chip away at the chronic tiredness we’ve had for the last year or so. It was beautiful to be among the trees in the forest (my initial pick for letter F). We love the calm, the green, the time without WIFI and with our kids. We retreat to the forest pretty often, when we’re able.

This was the first time we brought Sammy when he had no cords.

So much to celebrate.

Life is never one way though. Never just all easeful or all challenging. We’re never all courageous or all falling apart. With faith, we know we can be everything at once, because it’s not our doing. We are not alone and we can be our real selves.

In a couple weeks, we’ll go back to Phoenix for a follow up on Sammy’s eyes. No surgery is to be minimized, but we’ve had to linger for awhile with the prospect of eye surgery this year. I kept saying to myself, “well, it’s not heart surgery!” Almost dismissively, even though deep down I don’t want any.more.amnesia.

Now all I want is to tune myself to the heart of Jesus, who cares for me, you, and all our details. He cares for eye surgery as much as heart surgery. He cares for whatever big or medium or small (and who can quantify it?) thing you’re dealing with. And we can pray for it all.

Stopping now to pray for all you dear readers. Most of our inner desires, loves, fears, and what rattles our faith go unsaid. I know some of mine still do. Praying into this void and hoping God will work to redeem all these beautiful and hard places. Christ have mercy.

If you’re a praying people, pray for my sweet Sammy, that his eyes would be improving and we wouldn’t have to jump to surgery. If it’s what he needs, it’s what he needs. I realize my mama heart has gotten stronger, but I hate for anyone (myself included) to have to keep testing over and over how strong it is.

It’s my birthday next week! 40! I’m going to embrace it.

I guess the trees and wind and water have made me more gentle or soft or mush than I normally am (which is pretty mush already). I guess I’ll simply wish for more peace on Earth this birthday. Sure, I’ll take any Miss Congeniality jokes.

Here’s why I want peace on Earth.

First, we all take everything so seriously.

And then there’s the idea that somewhere deep below all that has hardened us as we get older, we really are just kids at the lunch table hoping someone will be nice and share their dessert with us.

Often, I think I’m an almost 40 year old in a very old soul’s body (although theologically I don’t actually believe this). I know world and its suffering is a tale as old as time.

Then, I also feel no older than the 6-year-old kid inside me who wants the whole world to be friends and who loves games and her dog and delights in the tiniest walk across a field.

40 is 40, and I’m starting to really believe age is just a number. I didn’t know if Sammy would make it to 40 WEEKS you guys, and look at him now.

Look at me now.

I share this (look, my eyes still have life in them after everything!) because I believe it’s kind of hard to stay alive. It’s more than eating a banana every now and then.

The scramble and scares and marathon over the last couple years, and to be honest over most of my life as I never make things easy, has brought me to this place, this time, this essay.

I birthed two babies in two years and made it, by God’s grace.

We had four hospital stays in a year and made it, by God’s grace.

We’re tired but we’re still making it, by God’s grace.

I thought I wanted a big birthday bash for 40, to match the norm of my energy and love for people. I even put “plan party” on my calendar a long time ago. Instead, we planned a big party for Sammy and that was the best early birthday present. It really was.

I hoped we’d get to ONE with him alive and thriving, and we did. I believed God would hold us near, but to be honest, I could never picture it. I couldn’t dream of him at one year until we got close. I couldn’t plan it.

But here we are.

Time has gone by and he is now gigantic, or perhaps finally eating well without suck/swallow/breathe zapping all his energy.

I didn’t know if we’d get past that stage.

I prayed and God heard my prayers and it felt like it was a long time but maybe it was quicker than I thought. Maybe time isn’t as I think and peace on (the new) Earth is coming.

Maybe Faith really is believing even if you can hardly see.

The headlights in front of me may still show me only how to walk the next step, but I now know that’s enough for me.

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