There’s this thing about the human body: it is a complex, complicated thing. I know. So scientific, right? Where’s my Nobel Peace Prize, John Nash?
And because of its glorious intricacies, the idea of our accidental existence is unfathomable to me. God, a creative God, is evident in each perplexing detail. And the study of this God has led me to believe that not only is He a purposeful and artistic God, but He is also a very fond God.
I know this. I KNOW this. (Did you hear that, heart? Brain says we KNOW this.)
Despite my knowledge that God is quite fond of His creation, His puzzling, mysterious, esoteric creation, I also know, more consistently, how devastating it can be when a piece of that creation doesn’t seem to work right.
What do I know more? Do I know God’s goodness more deeply than my anxiety?
And so the pull begins, more tautly, more recently.
In February, Bug was given a tentative All-Clear sign regarding his epilepsy. After two years of being seizure-free and an EEG within normal limits, his neurologist gave us the hope that he might be one of the slim majority of kids who outgrow their epilepsy with minimal treatment. Over the following six weeks, we slowly weaned him from his medication with the knowledge that up to 40% of children relapse within the first two years, with the hope that he would find himself in the 60%.
Two nights ago, Bug and I were curled up on the open, cool space of the bathroom floor, waiting for the seizure to begin.
I am thankful that his precursor to a seizure is lengthy, that I have time to prepare his body and my heart for what is about to happen, that the warning sign of an oncoming epileptic episode is a bright and flashing red, that I can keep him safe while his brain reboots. I am thankful that I have his neurologist on speed dial, that she is warm and understanding and involved and brilliant. I am thankful that my own brain is packed with information and experience and knowledge that I can recall with ease in the thick of uncertainty. I am thankful that we now know he has not outgrown his epilepsy, instead of spending the following years holding our breaths, wondering and waiting if it will strike again. I am thankful that he has epilepsy, and not a heart defect.
I am thankful that I am smaller than the God who created such a complex organ, that I am more ignorant than the God who knows every cell of my son’s body, that I am not the one in charge of healing, because I would make a mess of things. I am thankful that the God who designed my son with a clear and grand purpose in mind also makes it His purpose to be my Comfort.
I am thankful, at least for today.
15 responses to “At Least For Today”
This brought tears to my eyes! So well written and beautiful. I can feel your peace in your words – the peace that only comes from knowing how big God really is. He’s got us in his hands, for sure. 🙂
Thanks, Annie. For now, there is peace, anyway.
I have no words that are deeper than your faith.
At least for today.
Love to you and bug. Always.
Thanks, Julie. I lovelovelove you.
Oh Jess! I understand, but you have written it better than I ever could. Monkey gets migraines. Bad ones. He gets an aura, and I know what is coming. Even though there are medicines he can take, if he gets to aura, we’re sunk. And it’s awful to watch.
But, like you, I find myself filled with a strange gratitude. That he doesn’t have cancer. Or a heart defect. Or something else I couldn’t even imagine. I am grateful he lets me hold him between bouts of vomitting. And that he lets me lie next to him in his bed and squish his head — which is rare these days.
Wishing you peace, momma
Thanks, Renée. You know that feeling then.
And poor Monkey! I wish bad stuff and monsters just left kids alone to live their lives of running and playing and getting sweaty.
I couldn’t even click “Like” for this. The writing is amazing — but I can’t like what you and Bug have to deal with. But I’m really glad I read this. Really, really glad. Because the gratitude part is awesome. 😉
This post is really good Jess. The honesty is so much better than pretending like so many other people do. Faith isn’t always neat and tidy, doesn’t always make sense. Knowing that everything doesn’t make sense is a big part of it.
Thanks, Clay. You get me.
He is Good. All the time. Yet, the questions try to invade our mind like an all consuming plague. Why? How? Why? Now? Why? But He. Is. Good. and Oh How He Loves Us, How He Loves Us So!
It a journey and we are never alone. He walks it out with us.
We are walking out some health things ourselves so I can relate.
Thank you, Beth! We are most definitely not alone, not only because of God, but because of His faithful who stand beside us. Keeping your family in our prayers also!
Jess,this was a precious piece. I’m thankful to Clay for leading it to me. The timing was remarkable for me this week,and I couldn’t even try to hold back as I read it. I’m left hanging in quite a few major issues right now,some of which are life and death;others are merely painful to wait through. This week,of all weeks,my five year old daughter,Regan,was diagnosed with Bell’s Palsy. It was numbing to hear but I was instantly thankful that it was not a stroke or a tumor. We waited for results from her blood test and sure enough,she also has Lyme Disease. By Thursday we realized that she was much further along in the disease than we initially thought. She is in stage II of Lyme Disease. Poor thing is still my spitfire,but she’s a little off from the high doses of steroids and antibiotics. I instantly became thankful that we caught it and that both will reverse themselves. We are however in a wait and see period to see the full affects of the Lyme Disease. It’s awful and my heart is aching,but she is alive,she is convalescing,and she is happy. Thank you for putting into words what my heart was throbbing this week! I will pray for your family.
Oh, Jessica, it sounds like you are in your own wrestling match with God. My prayers are with you and your little spitfire as well. I’m just glad you are able to find some peace and comfort in my wavering trust…we are absolutely not in this alone, any of us. Thanks for reading and commenting.
I love you. That simple.
I simply love you back.