Matters of the Heart
I just spent this afternoon with my 25-year-old son. At the cardiologist's office. And the past few hours have been a refresher course in gratitude, God's sovereignty, and His grace.
Testing, results, and review of what the future holds reminded me of just how far Tristan has come and just how precariously close he came to not even reaching adulthood. Looking back at all of the circumstances -- again today -- sent me rushing back to memories of all of the ways we can now look back and see God's hand at work.
Tristan was born on July 1, 1988 -- the Friday of the Fourth of July weekend -- when a LOT of doctors are out, and a lot of other doctors are on call. Within minutes of his birth, it was determined that he had life-threatening cardiac issues. The pediatric cardiologist on call that weekend -- chosen by God, as it turns out -- had a different view of things than the doctors we might have been assigned to on any other weekend. And she was all for sending our baby to someplace far away if that was where he could receive the best care. So with her counsel, we chose Birmingham, Alabama, as the place he would be evaluated and treated further.
And who do we know in Birmingham? Yep, you guessed it. Like -- nobody. Or so we thought. Tristan was life-flighted on a specially equipped medical transport jet on July 3. On July 4, Scott flew out to be with him. He had a layover in Dallas, and his big brother Greg was waiting for him there -- to fly out to Birmingham with him so that he wouldn't be alone in a strange city with a critically ill baby. (For which, Greg, we will forever be grateful to you!) Scott's parents lived in a little West Texas town and went to a little West Texas church. And one of the members there contacted his mom -- who lived in Birmingham in a big house with just her brother and who just couldn't stand the idea of these two guys up at the hospital with no place to stay and no one to take care of them. She drove up to the hospital the day they arrived, introduced herself, and told them they were staying with her and her brother. And God smiled on us. Another couple we had been friends with had moved away to Arkansas but had just moved to -- where else? -- Birmingham six weeks earlier!
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, our loving church family was taking care of me and our older son Tanner in the sweetest ways. Money was donated for air fare. Phone cards were donated so that we could make long-distance calls (pre-cell phone!). And once I was finally able to get out to Birmingham, people mowed our yard and picked our peaches which had ripened during this time. Cards and calls, prayers and hugs, kindnesses that made me weep.
In Birmingham, Tristan was thoroughly evaluated, and a surgery was recommended that was fairly new. The advantage was that the surgery would return his heart to its anatomically correct structure with the hope of a good long-term prognosis. The risk was that the newborn heart is just so incredibly tiny that the surgery is incredibly delicate. He also had a couple of "minor" defects that were working in his favor, but these would also require repair. The decision was made to postpone surgery for a few days to see if a couple of potential problems might repair themselves. And during those few days, our brothers and sisters in Christ were praying, and God was at work. By the time he was reevaluated, those potential risks had "cleared up." Surgery was a "go."
We met the orderlies at the elevator as they were wheeling Tristan's crib to the OR that morning. He was already asleep, and we cradled his soft little head and stroked his tiny hands and tearfully watched them board the elevator. Our hearts pounded as we recalled our conversation with the surgeon the night before. We were convinced of his skill, but his truthful words jarred our hopeful outlook. "This surgery is 80% successful. Do you understand that one in five babies does not survive?" I was sobered into silence and just nodded.
And the hours of waiting began. We settled into the cardiac waiting room with other families of patients of all ages and were particularly drawn to one family who apparently also had a child awaiting surgery that day. They seemed to have several relatives gathered in support and encouragement. And we sat in our chairs and prayed and tried to read and tried to keep our hope alive. After a few hours, the parents of the other child were called into a nearby alcove to visit with a doctor. I will never forget what happened next for as long as I live. The couple was out of sight, but after a minute or so, we heard wailing and sobbing and screaming that can only come with the deepest grief. And my heart broke into a million pieces for that mama and that daddy and that family. And fear slid its gnarly claws around my neck until I wasn't sure I could breathe. Scott and I gripped each other's hands, faces ashen and hearts pounding. And the clock kept ticking.
Can I say that that day was a monumental moment in my spiritual life? I recognized truthfully and completely that God has life and death in His hands and that how He chooses is up to Him. And while I can't say that I'm completely comfortable with that and all that it entails, I can say that my understanding of His sovereignty deepened if only a little bit that day. His ways are not my ways, and He is beyond my understanding.
Finally, our surgeon summoned us to the meeting room. And he told us our little Tristan had come through the surgery very well but that there were a few days ahead where things could take a turn for the worse. He would most likely be in the ICU for seven to ten days before being released to the cardiac nursery.
Well, Tristan has never been "normal" -- in the sweetest sense of the word! He was out of ICU within five days, and he spent five more days in the cardiac nursery before being released to fly back home. And fast-forward 25 years, and he is a kind, funny, intelligent, giving, sensitive young man. And I get the blessing of being his mama.
And today I'm thinking about all of the LIFE in this kid and every sweet and wonderful thing that I've been blessed with in being a witness to his very being, and I'm overwhelmed by God's good hand. Any other surgery, and he would now be dealing with complications that come as the patients age. Any other family -- blood relative and church -- and Scott would have been out in Birmingham alone and overwhelmed. Any other outcome -- and we would have missed out on the gift of Tristan. And I won't for one second trivialize the fact that had God so willed, any piece of this story could have gone a different way. But that wouldn't change Who God is and how He loves and how He cares and how He hurts for His hurting children.
But in THIS matter of the heart, on this day, I am grateful...
Testing, results, and review of what the future holds reminded me of just how far Tristan has come and just how precariously close he came to not even reaching adulthood. Looking back at all of the circumstances -- again today -- sent me rushing back to memories of all of the ways we can now look back and see God's hand at work.
Tristan was born on July 1, 1988 -- the Friday of the Fourth of July weekend -- when a LOT of doctors are out, and a lot of other doctors are on call. Within minutes of his birth, it was determined that he had life-threatening cardiac issues. The pediatric cardiologist on call that weekend -- chosen by God, as it turns out -- had a different view of things than the doctors we might have been assigned to on any other weekend. And she was all for sending our baby to someplace far away if that was where he could receive the best care. So with her counsel, we chose Birmingham, Alabama, as the place he would be evaluated and treated further.
And who do we know in Birmingham? Yep, you guessed it. Like -- nobody. Or so we thought. Tristan was life-flighted on a specially equipped medical transport jet on July 3. On July 4, Scott flew out to be with him. He had a layover in Dallas, and his big brother Greg was waiting for him there -- to fly out to Birmingham with him so that he wouldn't be alone in a strange city with a critically ill baby. (For which, Greg, we will forever be grateful to you!) Scott's parents lived in a little West Texas town and went to a little West Texas church. And one of the members there contacted his mom -- who lived in Birmingham in a big house with just her brother and who just couldn't stand the idea of these two guys up at the hospital with no place to stay and no one to take care of them. She drove up to the hospital the day they arrived, introduced herself, and told them they were staying with her and her brother. And God smiled on us. Another couple we had been friends with had moved away to Arkansas but had just moved to -- where else? -- Birmingham six weeks earlier!
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, our loving church family was taking care of me and our older son Tanner in the sweetest ways. Money was donated for air fare. Phone cards were donated so that we could make long-distance calls (pre-cell phone!). And once I was finally able to get out to Birmingham, people mowed our yard and picked our peaches which had ripened during this time. Cards and calls, prayers and hugs, kindnesses that made me weep.
In Birmingham, Tristan was thoroughly evaluated, and a surgery was recommended that was fairly new. The advantage was that the surgery would return his heart to its anatomically correct structure with the hope of a good long-term prognosis. The risk was that the newborn heart is just so incredibly tiny that the surgery is incredibly delicate. He also had a couple of "minor" defects that were working in his favor, but these would also require repair. The decision was made to postpone surgery for a few days to see if a couple of potential problems might repair themselves. And during those few days, our brothers and sisters in Christ were praying, and God was at work. By the time he was reevaluated, those potential risks had "cleared up." Surgery was a "go."
We met the orderlies at the elevator as they were wheeling Tristan's crib to the OR that morning. He was already asleep, and we cradled his soft little head and stroked his tiny hands and tearfully watched them board the elevator. Our hearts pounded as we recalled our conversation with the surgeon the night before. We were convinced of his skill, but his truthful words jarred our hopeful outlook. "This surgery is 80% successful. Do you understand that one in five babies does not survive?" I was sobered into silence and just nodded.
And the hours of waiting began. We settled into the cardiac waiting room with other families of patients of all ages and were particularly drawn to one family who apparently also had a child awaiting surgery that day. They seemed to have several relatives gathered in support and encouragement. And we sat in our chairs and prayed and tried to read and tried to keep our hope alive. After a few hours, the parents of the other child were called into a nearby alcove to visit with a doctor. I will never forget what happened next for as long as I live. The couple was out of sight, but after a minute or so, we heard wailing and sobbing and screaming that can only come with the deepest grief. And my heart broke into a million pieces for that mama and that daddy and that family. And fear slid its gnarly claws around my neck until I wasn't sure I could breathe. Scott and I gripped each other's hands, faces ashen and hearts pounding. And the clock kept ticking.
Can I say that that day was a monumental moment in my spiritual life? I recognized truthfully and completely that God has life and death in His hands and that how He chooses is up to Him. And while I can't say that I'm completely comfortable with that and all that it entails, I can say that my understanding of His sovereignty deepened if only a little bit that day. His ways are not my ways, and He is beyond my understanding.
Finally, our surgeon summoned us to the meeting room. And he told us our little Tristan had come through the surgery very well but that there were a few days ahead where things could take a turn for the worse. He would most likely be in the ICU for seven to ten days before being released to the cardiac nursery.
Well, Tristan has never been "normal" -- in the sweetest sense of the word! He was out of ICU within five days, and he spent five more days in the cardiac nursery before being released to fly back home. And fast-forward 25 years, and he is a kind, funny, intelligent, giving, sensitive young man. And I get the blessing of being his mama.
And today I'm thinking about all of the LIFE in this kid and every sweet and wonderful thing that I've been blessed with in being a witness to his very being, and I'm overwhelmed by God's good hand. Any other surgery, and he would now be dealing with complications that come as the patients age. Any other family -- blood relative and church -- and Scott would have been out in Birmingham alone and overwhelmed. Any other outcome -- and we would have missed out on the gift of Tristan. And I won't for one second trivialize the fact that had God so willed, any piece of this story could have gone a different way. But that wouldn't change Who God is and how He loves and how He cares and how He hurts for His hurting children.
But in THIS matter of the heart, on this day, I am grateful...
