Usually my blog is for the mundane things in our life. The things where I know the people reading can sort of fill in the blanks with their own stories of the day to day. When our girls hit major milestones and those with kiddos can smile and remember fondly the day their kids celebrated 1 year, learned to walk, started chatting... When I write about the daily difficulties of unbelief and struggle with the Christian life -- how hymns nurture my soul and others can nod their heads in agreement of being in those moments with me. I think that's it ... I enjoy writing my blog and it's easy in the moments that people are "with me". But what about when I have a rare experience?
I've only really wrote one other blog post where I felt alone and not with. The post about our first sweet child and the deep hurt and longing I felt after he/she passed. I wrestled with writing that post -- I never quite had the right words, or feared who may read my post and engage me about it. I really feared being known and out of control of who knew me. It took time -- many tears shed and many beautiful moments of people loving us through some very dark days. I'm incredibly thankful for that post that I read every year as the day rolls around when we lost our first babe.
And here we are again -- a post about truthfully when another one of my sweet children almost died.
I thought about starting a blog specifically for Zoe and her time in the hospital. A blog where I updated every day with the specific numbers that needed to change - with the prayers we had every moment. Though I know there is something lost in not having the specific details to look back on, those specific times are not what I hold onto from Z's hospital stay.
When I look back, I remember the turmoil of holding Zoe at home and wondering do we drive the hour AGAIN to the hospital. I remember getting to the hospital and sitting with my head in my hands sobbing as multiple nurses stuck Zoe, desperately trying to get the IV in her frail little body. The moment when I saw the fear in trained nurses who pushed my child to the room closest to the nurses' station and made the call to the PICU. The moment I pulled out my phone and the cynic that usually says "alerting through social media is stupid" was silent as I posted a picture asking anyone and everyone to pray for our sick Zoe. My fingers fumbling through texting as I sent out the first messages to friends and family that Zoe truly was very sick. And finally getting up to the room where I watched and listened to my child in complete anguish — I sat down and sent my purest and most vulnerable email, begging for prayer, to the listserv of woman that I usually am too insecure to bother.
It was that first night as I laid beside Zoe’s bed and the doctor (with her own two year old girl at home) frantically worked to get something in Zoe’s body to start working, that I started facing the reality that my little girl may not make it to the next morning. That night, not one hour went by without a text or an email from someone telling me they were pleading for Zoe’s life. The holy spirit was at work that night awakening many of our people to pray and to bring Zoe before the throne of the only one who could save her.
I will never forget the peace I felt in that hospital. My independent, cynical self who struggles to believe that God really cares, was totally stripped away. I brought Zoe to the smartest people I knew and they could do NOTHING to save her life. The dependence I had on the Lord and His people was one I hope to never forget. (Don’t hear me saying if we had stayed home Zoe would have had the same outcome. I’m so very thankful for those doctors who fought and worked hard, but the truth was medically, Zoe should not have made it.)
A friend started a fb group to pray for Zoe and I can’t begin to explain how humbling and honoring that page was for us. The sheer number of people who cared to watch Zoe’s updates and to actually pray for her was amazing. Churches all over the WORLD prayed for Zoe in their services that first Sunday we were in the hospital. Our local church was The Church in one of the most astonishing and amazing ways. They rallied around us; they prayed for us, they had others pray for us, they brought us meals, they sat with us in silence, they cried with us, they rejoiced with us — they were one of the purest pictures of Jesus and the only word I have for that is beautiful.
The days and nights all rolled together in the hospital. Cam and I (and Zoe) were the people being lowered through the roof to Jesus and SO MANY PEOPLE were doing the lowering. All those people who wept and prayed as Zoe’s toes and fingers turned black and we were told to prepare for lost hands and feet. I’ll never forget the look on our doctor’s face as he stood there staring at Zoe’s toes for minutes, speechless, then turned and told us this is a gift and walked out of the room. And it was, she was — she was a gift, a beautiful gift from the Lord.
I’ll never forget when Cam posted the words “our doctor says death is off the table” and over 77 THOUSAND people saw that post. That my friends is redemption, darkness being torn from the world, and it was glorious!
Zoe was healed from the tips of her fingers to the tips of her toes.
Now as I sit here trying to figure out what we’ll do for advent with the girls, I find myself truly longing to celebrate. I want to prepare my heart this year for the celebration of the babe who came to save the world. For the tiny child who was given to a dark world, from a Father who desperately wanted a way for his people to be with him. Oh what love!
During those first few nights in the hospital I kept humming “Oh Love That Will Not Let Me Go”. It was a song we sang at our wedding as the first verse really rang true then. This time it was the third verse ringing in my ears — Oh Joy that seekest me through pain, I cannot close my heart to thee. I trace the rainbow through the rain and FEEL the promise is not vain, that morn shall tearless be. I felt that promise and I felt that love. As I stared at my sweet child knowing I would do ANYTHING to take her place I was baffled that I have a heavenly Father who gave his child for us, an undeserving people. Truly, amazing love.
And now we celebrate that gift giving of Jesus. Christmas and advent are especially sweet for us this year. Zoe has become our ebenezer (our stone of help) that we look at daily to remember the Lord’s faithfulness and graciousness to us and His people.
The picture I’ll leave you with is one I dreamed of and longed for while we were in the hospital. Our first Sunday back at Redeemer they called us up front and the entire church started clapping for Zoe. She looked at me and said “friends mama?”. It was a little slice of heaven to hear the name of my sweet daughter being cheered because she was healed, and for her tiny heart to catch a glimpse of that love.
Come thou long expected Jesus, born to set thy people free.
