Twelve years ago next month my youngest child Caden was born. He weighed in at a bit over seven pounds, normal for most families, but much smaller than our first two children...Within four days we were back at the hospital watching in shock as our doctor was barking out orders in a frantic attempt to save our baby. As the nurses scrambled, we prayed desperately and then watched as Caden was taken away in a specially equipped ambulance to the neo-natal unit in Eugene. We followed behind and thanked God when we discovered that, while he was now stable, Caden had been hours away from death. We went to bed that night not knowing what the future might hold for our little guy.
Michelle and I both stayed at the hospital for the first few nights, but then decided we would pull shifts in order that one of us would be with our other children at home. I would make the trip down I-5 to Eugene, stay with Caden, and then make the return trip home and relieve Michelle who would then head down to the hospital. During this time, Caden was full of tubes and the medical staff was running tests daily in an effort to diagnose his issue. Every day and night, Michelle and I would rotate being at the hospital, every day and night making the trip down I-5.
I do not recall how many trips I had made, deep in prayer, before I saw it. But there it was, a cross, brightly lit, shining through the darkness high up on a hill on the East side of the freeway. I'm sure that I had seen it before, I have traveled that same road too many times to count during my life. But as I saw it that night, I pulled over on the edge of the freeway and sobbed. Through my tears, I pleaded for my son and vented my anger at God. We were good people who didn't deserve this for our son.. We had done things right! As my tears ran dry, I pulled back on the freeway and completed the trip to the hospital.
Something happened that night. I began to look for the cross every time I would make that trip. I focused my confusion, my anger, my hopes and my fears on that cross. During the two weeks that Caden was in the hospital, every trip by that cross made me aware of my overwhelming need for Christ. I approached that cross broken and hurting, needing to be assured, needing to be comforted. And during those trips on I-5, I was.
After two weeks and the first of two surgeries, Caden came home. He still had a journey before him but our son was going to live. Over time, we settled into a new routine and life moved on. But a part of me stayed at that cross. Since that time, people have occasionally commented about how I have grown slower to criticize, slower to speak. I don't rush to share my opinion like I did in my younger days. I have found that not every hill is worth dying on. I have more compassion for people who are hurting. You see, during those long drives, alone in that car with God, I begged for him to change my circumstances, to heal my son. But while He saved Cadens life, He did not completely heal him. That part of my prayer was not granted. Instead, something unexpected happened as I approached the cross broken and transparent...He changed me.
C.S. Lewis stated that God whispers in our pleasures but shouts in our pains. I can attest to that truth. Occasionally, when I look at Caden and see that he still has a road to travel, I hear the echoes of that pain. But my mind wanders back to that darkened car interior, alone on the roadside, my eyes focused through my tears on that cross and I am reminded again of how much He has given me. And I am thankful.
Caden: Derived from military term Cadence; meaning: Spirit Of Battle
No comments:
Post a Comment