I don't pray anymore for Parker to be saved. I pray for strength. For a stronger back to carry the burdens that are asked of me. And better shoes to walk the paths I must trod. I still pray for Parker to be healed. Every single day. You may think I am delusional. Maybe I am. But I believe it is still possible. It may not be today or tomorrow, but it will be. I don't think in terms of days or months anymore. I think in years & spheres & realms out of earthly dimensions. I know Parker will be healed. I know it. Just like I knew I held the pen that scratched these words on my little post-its at 1 am this morning.
I pray for more patience, more hope, more wisdom to guide me where I must go. Where I do not wish to go, but where I must go, so I load up my back, put on really great shoes, try to chin up & walk.
I walk & walk & walk. Sometimes I run with joy to my destiny and unashamedly take what I must. Sometimes I tiptoe backwards in hopes that I can change time. These backwards steps usually last only for a moment. Today I walk forward, but very, very slowly.
The cab driver said to me "C'est la vie" as he drove me and Parker to Necker last night. Time slowed way down as I actually saw the sun setting between buildings... and I told him, "A l'hopital Necker, sil vous plait". To the Emergency Room.
Parker had an asthma attack. What? But he doesn't have asthma. Well
, I guess he does now. He got some kind of respiratory infection which caused him to get a high fever and have difficulty breathing. Swine flu? No. Perhaps. 6 nebulizer treatments and a thorax x-ray later we were sent home with steroids, antibiotics, and breathing treatments. More medicines? Really? Is that even possible? Where will we fit them in the day...?
Six hours later I returned home in a cab to lie my son to sleep. Sleep in his own bed, with no lights and no cords & no machines & no needles... And no other coughing or crying children around. The house was asleep when we arrived. I lay him in his own warm, comfy bed. He quickly joined his dad and four sisters in slumber. Home is good. A quiet, sleeping home is even better.
I prayed last night in gratitude that I still have my son at home with me,
with us. I prayed for the parents and children I left, we left, in that sick-child prison. For them I prayed for stronger backs, too, and better shoes. They are going to need them where they are going.
