The last ten days have been a lot.
Last week Pam and I went down to spend a week with our grandson and his parents. While we were there we had to take him to the Pediatrician three times. He began breaking out with what first looked like a rash, then perhaps chicken pox, mostly on his back and the top of his head. While none of this is life threatening, it is still a helpless feeling when one so small and innocent has any kind of health concern. Since this is the first time it has happened to him and me, it kind of breaks my heart.
To add insult to injury, towards the end of the week three of the four adults in the house came down with strep throat. For cosmic reasons that defy all notions of fairness, I somehow dodged the bullet. We drove back home last Saturday and “rested” for 48 hours, then Pam headed back down on Monday to keep him at home this week until he turns the corner and these rashes get under control. I am here in Short Pump, holding down the fort preparing for the arrival of Patrick and Sarah from Tennessee this Saturday for one night, hand off their sweet pup Frisco and then fly to London for an long-planned vacation. Pam hopes to arrive back home before they arrive.
The only good thing about Silas’ situation is that so far these rashes have not changed his behavior and outlook on life. The boy has been his adorable, laughing, adventurous, playful self through it all, gobbling up everything on his plate, crawling everywhere, and babbling on like nothing whatsoever is wrong. Still, I can hardly stand to look at the photographs of the rash on his back. I want to take them away. I want them to be on my back and not his.
It’s the exact same feeling I used to get whenever Kaitlin or Patrick got sick when they were little. I always feel like it is monstrously unfair when children get sick. They don’t understand what’s happening and you can’t explain it to them. You just have to die inside a bit while giving them their medicine…and you do a lot of praying.
I have been a Christian for over 50 years and in all that time I have always struggled praying for myself. Asking God for help with personal issues always felt too much like whining, especially since what I was praying about was usually the result of my own stupidity or hubris. But whenever one of my kids got sick I had no problem storming heaven’s gate. With Silas it’s at a totally different level. Let’s just say that over the last 48 hours or so, God and I have been on a first name basis.
