I could hear the ticking of a clock, and I heard a fly buzzing around somewhere. I couldn’t move. I was struggling to breathe. Without knowing the next move, I simply collapsed. On my knees, I slumped over and knew nothing would be the same.
Behind me was a door to a hospital room. In the bed of that hospital room, was my oldest son. I had reached a moment in time that I was certain of two things- God was right there in that hallway with me, and I had to tell God something that broke my heart-“If you have to take my son now, I will let him go.” The nurses walked around me, they were at a loss. They had no words. They just gave me my space and my time kneeling in a hospital hallway, with respect.
I called my dearest friend, who lovingly cried with me. I only remember one thing she said, “I’m so sorry, I love you.” Her tears, shed with me, were comfort. At that point, I stood up, and I walked back into George’s room. He was beyond ill, he was tired, and he looked at me and said, “I’m so glad this happened to me and not my brothers or sister.” I couldn’t control the flowing fountain of love from my eyes. My boy was my inspiration, my life. I had George at a very young age, and we grew up together. I couldn’t imagine my life without him.
As he became violently ill that night, and was fighting through his flesh eating bacteria, sometimes screaming in agony, all I could do was grab my bible and we just read about Jesus, specifically, the crucifixion. I didn’t pick it, it picked us. We then prayed, and I slept on a little cot next to my 16 year old son, and we held hands over the edge of the bed. As he pushed his morphine button, I cringed, and wished it was me, night after night. His organs were shutting down, he had jaundice and all color was washed away from his tanned skin. At this point George was in quarantine, and no visitors were allowed other than immediate family. I felt very alone without the constant visits of our prayer warrior church family. I prayed hard, I prayed continually, and I never gave up hope!
Three weeks later, the doctors had no answers, as they shook their heads. My son not only survived, he kept his leg. He not only kept his leg, he walked out of the hospital after the doctors said he’d be in a wheelchair for months. The form of flesh eating bacteria he had affected maybe one person a year, my son was the miracle. At one of the post op visits during George’s 6 months of home care, his doctor said, “I didn’t think you were going to make it”. His nurse said, “I really thought George would be gone when I came back after my weekend.” When I told them, it was in God’s hands, it was about faith, and believing in the impossible, they didn’t question it, they completely agreed.
I talk about surrender all the time. I talk about handing it over to God. There was never a moment, nor has there been since, that I surrendered everything, as in that moment. We can’t ever experience life until we have died. I completely understand that today. We can’t ever comprehend faith until we have truly accepted the unseen, the unknown and the unanswered.
This journey of ours is meant to be forever. There is no end, until we are home. Our limits have no boundaries, we aren’t meant to sit in little boxes of safety, surrounded by nets. The extent of our boundaries in God, are limitless- because when we choose Him, they become His boundaries. We become his, and he is ours. We can’t just kneel and give a problem to God, we kneel and give ourselves to God. All to Him, we will surrender.
(A picture of my son, George, today with his wife, Janelle!)