A Tale of Two Kings – When God Moves

The next morning was hard.  Even though the girl and her husband had slept some, their minds and spirits had not been able to slow down.  When it was time to go visit their son, the little king, the girl really didn’t want to go.

It wasn’t because she was fearful of what would be said.  She was just tired.  Spiritual battles are also physically exhausting.  She had prayed, as Dr. Seuss would have said, “til her ‘pray-er’ was sore.”  So when they arrived at the hospital, the girl told her husband to go into PICU without her.  She would sit in the waiting room.

She didn’t get to sit for long.

In minutes her husband was there, by her side, beaming.  ”You’ll never guess!  The surgeon is ecstatic, and the cardiologist is almost doing cartwheels!”

She rushed back into PICU with her husband, only to see the two men chattering excitedly, laughing and beaming like her husband.  ”We don’t understand it, but he’s done a 180 and he’s getting better!”  Handshakes were shared between the girl’s husband and the doctors, after which they departed.  The girl stood by the little king’s bed, breathing sighs of relief and whispering silent prayers of thanksgiving.

In her heart, she looked up at the sky growing more blue by the second.  In her heart, two fatherly hands reached down and shoved back the walls of water.  In her heart, heavenly winds pushed back the Red Sea until it completely disappeared.  She crossed on dry land to a shore of bliss.

God had answered all their prayers: the girl’s prayers, her husband’s prayers, the grandparents’ prayers, and all their friends’ prayers.

Later after the trip home, they would find out that 17 churches in 7 different states had been praying that fateful night.  But for now, the girl and her husband reveled in the knowledge that God had met their son in his darkest hour, and had carried him through.  He had carried all of them through, for that matter.

When the husband and the girl met their parents later in the waiting room, the husband announced proudly, “The doctors couldn’t understand what caused the turn-around, but we understand!  It was God!”

Yes, it was God.  It had been God all the way through.  And the girl knew, it would still be God, in the coming days, weeks, months, and years.

Four days later, the little king breathed for the first time on his own, without the respirator.  It was his first birthday.  Soon after that, he was released to the Pediatrics floor, where the girl and her mom tended to his every need.

Interesting things happened during those two weeks, which the girl pondered in her heart from that day on.

The first hiccup was a trip to radiology where the pumping volume of the little king’s heart was to be tested.  The radiologist spoke very negative words over the little king, upsetting the girl.  When the surgeon found out, however, he reminded her of how weak her son’s heart had been prior to the surgery.  Comforted by his reminder, she was no longer upset by the negative words.  Anything from this point on would be an improvement.

One night, while the girl’s mom was watching the NCAA basketball tournament on TV, the girl noticed her son was gazing at the TV intently.  He was mesmerized by the motion on the screen, studying all that was going on.  At one point, he lifted his right arm and pumped it up and down as if he were dribbling a basketball.  In her heart, a still, small voice calmly said, “Remember this.”

Then, a couple of days before the little king was to be released, he suddenly became sick.  The doctor determined it was a rotovirus.  The girl ended up getting sick with it as well.  So the trip home wasn’t as peaceful as it could have been, but they made it home.  And they both were soon better, and ready for celebration!  For the little king was going to have a proper birthday party, even though his actual birthday had been very eventful.  The girl knew she would never forget that day, when their son breathed all on his own.

The king’s name means “determined” and he certainly showed that part of his personality that day in PICU.

There’s more to the story, but this is a good point for stopping and taking a breather.  Your comments and thoughts are appreciated.  And many thanks to all of you readers, even if you don’t comment.  If you like the story, please pass it along to others.

Blessings to all.

A Tale of Two Kings – War

So this is what it had to be.  War.  On the deepest level.  This was the confrontation that would not be denied.

The girl stared into the air in front of her.  Though she wasn’t looking at any human face, she was looking into the eyes of a face so real she could reach out and slap it.  So sinister she could feel its ugliness glaring back at her.

The eyes of their enemy were cold.  Filled with death.  Glazed over with delight.

“You.  Won’t.  Win.”  The girl spoke barely above a whisper, not wanting to be heard by those around her.  This was her private battle.  She didn’t want others to jump into the fray, muddy her thoughts, confuse the situation in her heart.

Her mom had tried to console her, but the words sounded more like defeat.  So the girl fought them off.  She didn’t mean to be rude to her own mom, but she didn’t have time for that sort of talk.  None of this “whatever happens will happen” stuff.  No, she knew what she believed and she was going to stand by what she believed God had told both of them:  their son, the little king, would indeed come home.  From the hospital.  Alive.  Well, and getting stronger.

They had eaten dinner that evening, and made small talk with the king’s grandparents.  The girl wasn’t up to small talk.  That sort of thing didn’t matter. What mattered was the war.  It was here.  It was all around her.  She was ready, and she didn’t want distraction.  It was time to go to the front lines.  It was David against Goliath, and as far as she was concerned, Goliath’s head was coming off tonight.

In her heart, the girl drew her sword.  In her heart, she saw the enemy suddenly become very quiet.  In her heart, she felt all the unwavering confidence of a warrior who knows he has the upper hand.  In her heart, she tasted victory, and she wasn’t going to let go of that taste.  In her heart, she knew the enemy would cower in fear.

In her hands, she carried her Bible, the sword her God had given her for life’s battles.  In her mind, verses raced past, a furious recollection of all she had studied in her life up to that point.  She would stand on every verse in her arsenal.  She would see God bring victory!  And she wouldn’t stand for anything less.

Did God owe her victory?  The walls of her parted Red Sea gurgled around her as she continued to walk through on dry land.  Was she being presumptuous?  She pondered the question, searching her heart, for the answer might very well determine the outcome.

She stopped, in her heart, and lowered her sword.  Was she being presumptuous?  Was she demanding something that wasn’t rightfully hers?  Had she charged off into battle without orders to do so?  Was she facing the wrong sea?

She could lay down her sword, right now, and give in to what all the doctors and nurses had said all along: he’s going to die.  She could succumb to that statement, let it take over her thinking, and even agree with it.  And she knew if she did, he would probably die.  Words have immense power, more power than the human mind can fathom. And she knew, she could do that.  Yes, she could give in, agree with everyone else, and let her son go.  But what purpose would it serve?  Would it bring God any glory?  Would it bring Him any praise?  Would the acceptance of all the negative statements be the right thing to do?  Could she live with knowing she had backed down, accepted the statements and the diagnosis of a heart “falling apart, cell by cell”?  Could she walk away from this war for her son’s life?  Should she?

For the first time in days, she cried, more out of frustration and anger than sadness.

The hardest part of war is the choosing.

But within her, deep within her, was this… knowing.  And it would not let her rest.   It would not let her be.  It was a force deep inside her, like the waters of a geyser, churning, churning, never still.  It was building, growing stronger, pushing upward, ever increasing, until… WHOOSH!  It burst through the fog of her thinking, shattering the uncertainty, laying waste the question over what her course of action should be.  She knew beyond doubt that there was more to her son’s life than this!  She knew her son was to live.  She knew it!

And with that knowing, she raised her sword again, and placed the tip of it in their enemy’s face.

“Tonight, you… will… pay.”

She seated herself in the chair beside their son’s bed, flipped open her Bible, and started praying.  Her husband stood on the other side of the bed, praying as well.  They knew friends were praying back home.  Their parents were praying in the hotel rooms.  Music filled with scriptures was playing in the small tape recorder next to the little king’s bed.  The nurses quietly went about their business, not willing to interrupt the vigil of the girl and her husband.

The girl flipped from one scripture to the next, confessing every promise she read, praying constantly for God to show Himself strong.  She would not falter, she would not back down.  She kept her emotions in check, and did not speak out of fear or doubt or despair.  She stood her ground in confession.  Her husband did likewise.  This would be accomplished!

Finally, at 3 AM, a concerned nurse could no longer hold her peace.  ”Please,” she begged, “go and get some rest.  When he comes out of PICU and is placed on the regular floor, it will be up to you to take care of him.  You need to have strength to do that.”

She was right, and the girl knew this.  The girl’s husband knew it, too.  But it was hard to leave.  They only had 6 hours left before the 24 hour period was up.  Still, he was not going to be in PICU much longer, and their roles would change from observant parent to serving caregiver.

Reluctant to leave, but realizing the necessity of sleep, the girl and her husband walked slowly out of the ward.  They would continue the prayers through the night, away from the little king’s side.  The war was still on, until God said it was time to stop battling.