Unrelated, but profound nonetheless

I've spent the weekend totally in love with my family. Watching the boys play together. Watching Daddy be wonderful to them and with them. I smiled all weekend. With tears falling down my face. So happy. So peaceful with my life and where it is. And so sad. So very sad that Everett is not expected to be part of it. So sad that nothing has changed; so sad that nothing has happened to give us hope of healing.

I know. Even now. My God can heal him. He can give him a life of fullness and a life of joy. A life of laughter. A life of playing. A life of building and golfing and learning with Daddy. I know He can.

And I don't know why he hasn't. I don't know why some people get healing miracles and others do not. I don't know why some are cured and some are not. I don't think it has to do with the amount of faith or the amount of change that can come from the healing. I think... That's just how it works sometimes.

This morning at Watermarke church Jeff Henderson said something totally unrelated to Everett, but profound nonetheless. He said that conflict CAN be the conduit to a better story. Now he was speaking to relationships and screenwriters at that point, but since Everett is mostly all I think about, anything is fair game to help me cope.

I want my son to live. I want him to fully experience everything about his wonderful Daddy. I want him to fight with his brothers...maybe teach Kipton some compassion. I want him to laugh. I want him to love. I want him to LIVE.

Or I want him to be perfected in the arms of Jesus immediately. Or at least meet him peacefully, without struggle. Knowing nothing but the arms of those who love him while on earth.

I want to make sure we write a better story with our lives. I want to make sure YOU write a better story because you have "known" Everett. Because we have walked this journey together. Because we have cried and mourned and questioned together.

My miracle is knowing the Jesus that will hold my little boy for eternity. My miracle is knowing that Jesus comforts. My miracle is remembering that day in and day out my Jesus gives strength and peace the rest of the world cannot understand. It doesn't quell my pain. It doesn't dry my tears. It doesn't make it easier. It doesn't make it happy. It does t make it better. But it does give me hope. Because one day the tears will stop. The pain will subside. And there will be joy. Joy of remembering his face. His fingers. His life.

I am faced with that impossible choice anyone has of "pulling the plug". We set a tentative induction date of Tuesday night with an anticipated delivery date of Wednesday May 30. I cried all the way home, a 45 minute trip. I cried for the next 30 minutes upstairs in my bed, holding my Evertt bear. Crying tears of weakness all over his sewn on Bandaids. Shaking from the fear of the unknown. Weak from the emotional drain of picking my son's birthday and day of his death. I wasn't sure I could do it, but I set the date. With the understanding that canceling an induction is easier (read:faster) than scheduling one on short notice.

I basically figured that I'd cancel. That I'd stop it. Or rather Everett would just come. And I wouldn't have to make the choice. *I* wouldn't have to make the choice. The thing is... I've been in so much pain the last 2 days I'm almost not opposed anymore. I am weak from worrying about the unknown. I am exhausted from the fear. From the sadness. From the hurt. I am ready for the joy of seeing his little face. I am ready to hold him and kiss him and tell him that Jesus will take care of him. To tell him that no one loves him more than I do, but that Jesus could heal him and Mommy cannot.

I somehow remembered something I learned from my wise sister: I am not big enough to screw up what God can do. No matter what it is (or isn't), He will accomplish it. So if I pick a date to experience the only real joy I will ever know of my son, I will not be missing his miracle healing. It will happen or it will not. Time will not change it. Our hearts have given up control. I am nearly useless to my husband at this point. I can barely be a minimal loving Mommy. Walking or standing more than about 10 minutes at a time brings on incredible pain in my pelvis. With the development of external hemrrhoids from the pressure Everett has been exerting on my pelvis over the last 3 days, there is NOTHING that isn't painful. Intermittent contractions have turned to contorting back contractions. I will never be ready to give up my little boy, but I am....done with pregnancy.

So I am thankful that I cannot screw up what God can do. I can only screw up how I handle it. I can only screw up my response to what my Jesus has filtered through his hands for my life. May I choose to write a better story. May I choose to plant a garden. May I not ignore the hurt of this life by trying desperately to cover it up with Chrisitan sentiment, and in so doing alienate others... And myself from the true comfort that can be found in Jesus. May I choose to make relationships my priority, not my bank account. May I choose to love others rather than judge them. May I choose to live transparently, for all to see, and maintain integrity. Through it all.

Through it all. May I write a better story. Because of Everett. Because of his unexpectedly long life, not just his tragically short one. May I love better. May I love more fully.

Whether I choose his birthdate or he chooses his birthdate... My faith is not swayed. My hope is not deterred. Even now Everett's life is defying all odds, though no medical change has been found. Even now there is peace when chaos should abound. Even now my Jesus can heal him fully to live in my arms instead of His. And yet, my Jesus may choose to weep with us all as we lose our little miracle child.

Either way,my body is growing tired. My heart is weary from fear, hurt, and worry. My heart is at peace all at the same time. Strength to make a terrible decision or strength to make it another indefinite time period until his natural arrival. His healing, complete. Only complete. Nothing less. My only prayers.