Monday, January 29, 2018
A few days ago, Sophia’s heart stopped. CPR was accomplished but not without brain damage being done. She went 24 hours breathing on her own but her little body was tired, so she is now back on the machine. The doctors asked for me to come to the hospital immediately. They were not sure if this would happen again and if CPR wouldn’t be effective the next time because of her inflammation. I took the hour and a half drive to the hospital when I received the call. Her temperature was dropping, her blood pressure wasn’t great, and we thought we were starting to count down the hours. Well, my little warrior is still fighting like a champ. But that night was long. I didn’t know what would happen. After arriving to the hospital around 4pm, I decided I needed to stay the night, even though I hadn’t brought anything with me. Time past slowly as I stood next to her bed, without chairs available, in a crowded room with other sick ones, and a lot of beeping machines. She can’t see me and I don’t believe she can hear me, but I would still get right up in her face, lay my hand on her head, and sing to her. I would watch as her heart beats per minute would get pretty good to scary bad as I kept eying the monitor. Watching those lines go across the screen just like the roller coaster we’ve been on. That night I sat outside, under the stars, on a cold, cement bench above the sewage drain and tried desperately not to breathe in the smell. I sat in my lonely corner praying that it didn’t rain and hoping the stars would come out from around the clouds so I could start counting. I was too upset to try to start a conversation with all the other moms who seemed just as exhausted as I am. I loved when God asked Abraham in Genesis to count the stars. One look into the sky and I was reminded just how big my God is. One look into the sky and I was reminded I wasn’t sitting in the corner alone. He was right there with me. With a big sigh, I tried to hold it all together. I watched as the other moms and dads who had children in the hospital flatten out their card board boxes, lay down a sheet on the dirty ground and fall off to sleep. I watched as they would squat down to get some water from their bucket to brush their teeth in front of everyone as roaches were flicked off from the pile of clothes. I watched as the morning sun rose, they sat on the concrete ground with their two little gallons of water and washed clothes with their hands for their sick little children. I think of the stark differences in the country I came from to this one. Water fountains, everywhere, any time of the day or night… and it is free. Here I had to buy a bottle outside before the gate got locked and that was it for the night. I thought of having a chair in an air conditioned room to sit next to my baby girl, just the two of us, under the safety of a roof…not the back aching cement bench outside next to the ditch with 15 other people. I think of the bathrooms with their white tile, free toilet paper and running water. Here was a line of broken toilets that don’t flush, toilet paper was in your purse, and the color of the water was questionable. If anything, this life has made me grateful. We have no idea how good we have it. We have no idea how some people survive the way they do. And one thing I’ve learned, Haitians won’t complain about it. They are thankful for the healthcare with or without the luxuries. Today, I want to be grateful. I don’t want to complain. My princess is getting healthcare. That is all that matters. Not the comforts that we want. God is a good God and He makes it all worth it. Ill fight with you, Sophia. God is holding your right hand and I your left.
Monday, January 22, 2018
Sunday, January 14, 2018
Sophia. #11 “Someone has to cry for them, someone has to intimately feel their pain, someone has to hold them, fight for them, someone has to be with her…and that someone is you. God has chosen you to care for them, to care for the weak and the forgotten. At times it may feel like a burden, a struggle, a hopeless challenge, but it is your honor to serve Him and His children. God will make things right….beauty for ashes. We know this is not our home. In the meantime let us try to do all we can to further His kingdom before His return.” -Tony. You never said the journey would be easy, Lord... but you promised it would be worth it. You promised to give me Your strength through it. Right now, I need it. It is an honor to serve you. Even if it means my heart gets shattered into one thousand pieces. Hydrocephalus, Spina Bifida, Meningitis, breathing machines, feeding tubes, IV, medications, paralysis, seizures, mental and physical disabilities. The prognosis kept getting worse as I listened to the doctor explain in the easiest way he could….“Prepare yourself.” If she pulls through, her quality of life will be miserable. Infection has overtaken her body. I don’t know if it is this week or next week or in 52 weeks. Eventually that breathing machine will be turned off and that is when the world will stop turning. The earth will stop moving. That is when I’ll breathlessly wait to see if your little heart decides to keep beating. Hebrews 13:1-2 says “keep on loving one another as brothers and sisters. Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers,for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.” Sophia, you are an angel in disguise. You are beautiful in every way. I am forever grateful that I get to love you. You show me strength. You show me Jesus. I believe in miracles. I’ve seen them with my own eyes. So I will pray. I pray if He allows, that she can go to school one day, sing “Jesus loves me” with her sisters. I pray she can eat rice and beans and play in the ocean, and worship our King… on earth… but I also pray for no pain… and so I pray “Your will be done”. She is yours, God. If you let me, I will continue to pour my whole heart into hers. If you’ll let me. Either way, I’ll surrender to you. Please pray for our family right now. It is hard to wait for the unknown answers. Pray for Sophia.