The outcome could have been so much worse and for that, we praise. However, it was a shadow day, a “cancer” day, a reminder that we live in and with something that can threaten whenever it wants. It was a day for remembered dependence on God in ways that summer pool days don’t always impress upon me.
At the end of it all, we were all six under the same roof with no hospitals or sirens and we slept – truly slept – and for that I’m thankful.
At this moment in time, here’s all I know for sure: there’s a mercy that’s new every morning and a proven refuge in times of trouble.
Yesterday was a day when it was easier for me to throw up words onto social media sites, but I’ve copied them here today. May they encourage you to wait on Him, trust in Him, and see your wait as a beautiful part of the journey.
Moment by moment.
Those who live in the shelter of the Most High will find rest in the shadow of the Almighty. This I declare about the Lord: He alone is my refuge, my place of safety; he is my God, and I trust him.” Psalm 91:1-2 (NLT)
10:15 AM —
In the first hour of this morning’s summer camp, I got a call from a friend at church indicating that Chase had been brought in complaining of a headache, right eye pain, and lack of feeling in his right leg – even some “dragging” of the leg.
[cue the parent panic…especially as his tumor presented on his left side]
By the time I got to him, he could walk, he’d never stopped talking, and he showed no signs of seizing, but he was so tired that he spoke hardly at all (for those who know Chase, you know this is out of the ordinary) and slept for a few hours following my bringing him home.
He’s now more “himself”, but keeps resting and sleeping – saying his head hurts and his leg feels “rusty” even though it works.
In times like this, it feels impossible not to panic, but we are trying to live in grace in the moment.
Right now, for me (Chase’s mom), that looks like this: setting a timer for 30 minutes and only checking my email when the alarm sounds – to avoid frantically opening the mail app on my phone every 20 seconds in hopes of hearing from Chase’s doctors.
It could be a virus, it could be his growth hormones, it could be nothing, it could be something… I don’t know and part of me doesn’t want to share this, but I’m writing it out because I believe I’m not the only one who is having to actively pursue calm and joy in the middle of a day I didn’t expect.
Peace is not coming naturally like breathing, so, I am CHOOSING it.
Choosing peace.
Choosing hope.
Moment by moment.
7:30 PM —
You all are so awesome for walking this journey with us.
I just heard from Chase’s doctors… apparently it could be one of a few things (no easy road for our boy), but it was most likely either a seizure of some kind, or even more likely, some sort of migraine episode…because, apparently, kids like Chase start getting more/frequent/painful migraines.
Oh, the side effects of breathing…
Only time will tell what really happened today.
If this is once-and-done, it was probably a migraine, but we need to watch ever so closely and at the first sign of a repeat performance – call. Don’t pass GO, don’t collect $200… CALL.
So, the weird day is done… And the weird life continues.
I want to be free of the wait for “the next thing”, and yet I choose to believe the wait is as purposeful as every other moment.
Tomorrow is a new day with new mercies.
Taking it moment by moment.
Thank you for walking this with us!
Chase still has a headache, but perked up in order to help with his evening shot.
He scrunched up his nose, the stronger side of his face muscles causing lips to curl angrily on one side. “Bof of them!” This did not bode well.
Some days, Chase is an old soul with wisdom that brings me to tears. Other days, he has the logic and reasoning of a three-year-old, trapped in a body the size of a four-year-old, with the most of the physical abilities of a six-year-old. This means that discussions of any kind are often like trying to hit a moving target. At any given moment, he might need a pat on the head, a “quiet time”, or a higher-level discourse.
On Sunday morning, I laid out his clothes for him and went to iron Bob a shirt. Moments later, I returned to find Chase standing in the middle of the living room, his pants bustled and messed across the back where he’d failed to pull them up properly, and on his torso, he wore an undershirt, the shirt I’d laid out for him, another equally heavy long-sleeved shirt, and as I encountered him, he was attempting to frustratedly stuff his bulky arms into a navy zippered sweatshirt.
His forehead was already beginning to glisten under the furnace of clothing he’d heaped on his body and he was so mad at not being able to get his arm in the sweatshirt that I could tell he was seconds from pitching it across the room with a scream. And now, here I was gearing up to come at him with the sad truth that he couldn’t wear all the shirts in his drawer.
I hate when I know I’m right and for his own good, I need to intervene. Before I even start, nearly every time, there is the pricking sensation that it’s going to be an A++, super guaranteed, completely pitched, blood and guts battle. And on a Sunday morning too . . . because nothing says “getting ready for church” like a family fight.
Kneeling down, I started in, “Chase, honey, what happened? Why do you have all those shirts on?”
Sometimes it’s easier if I don’t assume and let him tell me in his own words, but this part takes time. And how I hate to take time.
He looked up at me simply. “Because I like them all.”
Fair enough. “Well then, why don’t you save one for school tomorrow? You may not wear both this morning. So, which is best for church? The gray one with the green sleeves, or the brown one?”
His voice grew insistent as he sensed my purpose. He would have to sacrifice at least one shirt. “Bof of them.”
“I’m sorry, Chase. That wasn’t a choice. You can wear one or the other, but not both.”
“Bof! Of! Them!” His voice raised to a scream and he played his trump card (which is only ever true about 50% of the time). “Daddy says bof of them!”
Bob’s voice came from the kitchen. “Chase, that isn’t true.”
“Bof of them! Bof of them! BOF OF THEM!!” His voice was a scream, his face red as his lips curled oddly around the “f” he substituted for “th”.
In moments like these, I want to get down on his level, and down in his face and say the four words that are always on the edge of my mind: “Because I’m the mom.” How I want to force obedience out of him as if it’s waiting to pop through just below the stubborn surface.
But at its core, the argument isn’t ultimately about his shirt, though he would have to remove at least two. At it’s heart, the argument is about all of us. Damage or not, our need to be right – to get our own way. As I looked at the “tiny” bald boy stomping his foot in anger, I found that I secretly wished him to respond better than I would have in the much the same scenario.
So often God confronts me much as I stood before Chase: Ellie , will you follow what I’ve laid out for you? I see the harm in this scenario that you do not. You can’t love me and these other things too . . . you must choose one or the other. There is sacrifice, yes, but my way is greater than you can wrap your mind around right now.
[mental angry foot stomp] No God, I want both of them! All of them! Why can’t I have everything? If you really loved me, you’d let me have what I think I want.
In the end, Chase only wore one shirt to church, the argument was diffused, and we all survived, but sometimes, in the myriad of daily battles, I find these rare moments of backing away to see my own heart in Chase’s stubborn stance. Many times, so many more than I’d like to consider, I fail miserably, but in those brief flashes of heart, I grasp just a hint of God’s loving patience with me…
…moment by moment.
For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope. Jeremiah 29:11
