Not really about RSV...

I spent this weekend trying to pry some details out of Hannah for our experience with RSV the first winter that we had the twins but she kept avoiding me. She finally told me this evening that it is because she never really tells the story since we caught it so early that there was no need for breathing treatments or hospital visits or anything reasonably dramatic. I suppose when things are so absurd for so long a little thing like a life threatening illness can seem like a pretty small ordeal. Short version: preemies are very susceptible to RSV and we knew it was likely that Andrew and Joel would contract it. Hannah had spoken with the doctor and was informed that if the symptoms of a normal cold lasted for more than 13 days it was RSV. On day 14 she called the doctor and he saw the boys, prescribed some medication and that was the extent of our experience with it.

Things like that tend to give me a little bit of perspective. Visiting with some friends the other night I was recounting all that the boys have been through and all the victories we’ve seen over the past years. It’s sometimes really difficult for Hannah and me to be around parents whose children are suffering because we know that we have been blessed beyond measure. There are children who have been in the same programs as our boys, been through the same school, same therapists, same diets, etc and have not made the progress that our boys have. How are we supposed to face parents whose lives are still in the same stage that Hannah and I clawed so desperately to be free from? I don’t have an answer. Why have we seen such great progress in Andrew and Joel while we’ve watched other families stay in the same struggles? I wish I knew so that I could jump in there and offer the same set of circumstances to let them experience the same victory and freedom that we have, but I don’t. I’d like to take credit for all of it. I would like to say that it’s because I have been such a wonderfully perfect parent, but we all know how far from true that is. I’d like to say that it’s because of our faith, that God heard our prayers and answered them, but I cannot claim that either because I know parents who have prayed no less fervently are still in a season of turmoil. I wish I could explain God’s purpose in it all, but no eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind can conceive…

On a quick side note; I ran across a book in a Christian book store recently and the back cover said something similar to (my paraphrase); ‘God doesn’t want you to suffer tragedy. Some say that God allows pain or that it’s even in His plan, but to do so brings in to question the very nature of God’s goodness.’ This book was in the top ten best sellers section. I wanted to grab all of the books off of the shelf, walk over and throw them in the trash can. First off, to read the Scriptures and completely dismiss the many accounts of pain and suffering endured by God’s people is not only in error, it’s foolishness. Secondly, to question God’s hand in all things, tragedy and victory alike, brings in to question His sovereignty. I’ll tell you right now, I would rather serve a God who promises goodness and is truly in charge even when I find it hard to understand than a god who wants things to go really well but is powerless against his enemies to stop it. We’ve had many people tell us over the years that our boys would be completely healed of their autism if only we had enough faith; that the only reason they continue to suffer is because Hannah and I do not have enough faith to see God heal them. By the grace of God, each time, we have been able to explain that true faith is believing that God is who He says He is and His promises are true regardless of our circumstances. God is still God even if Andrew and Joel have autism and we spoon feed them for the rest of their lives.

It’s easy to become so enthralled with our own tragedy that we lose sight of those around us who are hurting. I’ve spent shameful amounts of time in my poor-poor-pitiful me stage believing that no one could possibly understand how badly I hurt. I’ve compared circumstances time and again looking for justification for my failings and misery thinking that if only I could convince myself that my life really is that much worse than everyone else’s then I’ll finally have some reason for my madness. It’s all been birthed in selfishness and self-pity. I lament the fact that in my weakest moments I have envied those who’ve lost a child. I thought it better to lose a child than to have to look into the eyes of one every day who was so broken. I’ve raged at parents who compare their ADD-HD-IPDF-LMNOPQRS child and their challenges to ours. “Your kid is dyslexic; don’t pretend like you know what my life is like.” In my deepest self I am despicable. I am shamed at the self-absorption that has reigned in my life in seasons over the past few years. I cannot fathom how parents with terminal children can face the day. I do not know what a blessing it is to be able to hold my child even if they don’t meet my idea of ‘normal’. I am truly sorry to all the parents who have endured tragedy that I have laid judgment against because I was too weak to face my own humanity and see Christ exalted instead.

We are all broken. I finally began to love my children as a father ought when God showed me that Andrew and Joel are no more broken than I am, it’s just much easier to see in their lives. Those around us that we have given all kinds of labels, both kind and unkind, PC and otherwise, are no more disabled than we who live our lives functioning in a ‘normal’ manner. We are all fatally flawed, but we have the opportunity for redemption and completion through the healing hand of a loving God, and the healing does not start where we believe it should.