My Heart...

Sometimes, life can throw us a curve ball. Things appear to be going well, then all of a sudden...trouble. It's the inevitable part of life; we will ALL have trials. Some of them will be minor, others major, but regardless, they are going to come.

Such was the case a few weeks ago. While on a weekend shopping trip with my sister, my baby boy hurt himself on the playground at school. As the teacher was taking him in to tend to his wound, his small hand was crushed in the metal, pin-code entry door. My husband, in his fatherly wisdom, was sure that the bandage was enough. However, he thought to take our son by his aunt's house for a second opinion. After taking one look, she confirmed that the ER was the only option.

Upon their arrival, they took his vitals, assessed his injury, and prepped him for a minor out-patient surgery to treat a deep laceration and compound fracture. During the assessment, they believed they heard a murmur in his heart, so they referred him to the cardiologist the following day. My husband delivered all the details and the time of the next day's appointment. That afternoon, I tried to wait for him to call me, but it was taking longer than I could stand, so I called him. He told me that things went okay, but they might want to have him schedule an MRI for a closer look. I could tell in his voice that something wasn't quite right, but I didn't pry.

When I got back home, I hugged all the Smithboyz, and we got in bed. Once both boys were sleep, we transitioned them into their own beds. I hugged my husband once more (because I missed that dude), but the way he squeezed me back was abnormal. Something was off. Then, he delivered gut-wrenching news. The doctors found a hole in my son's heart. From what they could tell, it has caused one side of his heart to become larger than the other as the blood isn't flowing as it should from one side. He would definitely need an MRI and more than likely, open-heart surgery.

It took me but a brief moment to release the tears. I had no words. He's normal. He's fine. How could this happen? Why him? Why us? What does all this mean? They want to cut my baby open and tamper with his heart? HIS HEART?!? At this point, the floodgates are open. My body is convulsing, and a wave of anger washes over me. I take a trip down memory lane and ask God when we'll get a break. Then, something new happened.

The anger subsided quickly. The questions remained. But the perspective changed. I prayed: God, I don't get it. I don't know that I will, but whatever you want me and my family to get out of this, please don't let us miss it. Please assure me. Help me to trust you. Grow my faith in your promises to me and my family. Lord please keep him. Please bless his life. Please. And as I sat there begging God, crying out to him while sitting criss-cross applesauce in the middle of my bed, feeling sad, mad, scared, and helpless, God comforted me. The tears still flowed, but there was an inexplicable comfort.

The next day wasn't much better. The day after that was a little easier, maybe because the whole family stayed home from school and work and just hung out. As these few weeks have gone by, I have seen a few changes in me that only God can take the credit for. I'm still worried. I'm still scared. But I'm not angry. I'm not doubtful. When worry and fear creep in, I pray. When negative thoughts of the worst rise up, I ask God to cast them down because only He can do that for me. I pray more often. Incessantly almost. And I'm noticing that prayer hasn't changed my situation yet, but it's definitely changed my perspective. Most of the time, I have peace that Micah will be just fine. The times I don't, God tends to send some measure of comfort my way, a kind word, a testimony of a similar  experience, a prayer from someone else, or the simple laughter of my boys.

Here's what I know: Romans 8:28 is my favorite verse because I found it after my mom died. It's her death date, August 28th. But what it says rings true. It was true the day I laid her to rest and it's true as I prepare to watch my warrior son go through a scary procedure. ALL things work together for those who love the Lord and are called according to His purposes. Of course I believe this for myself. But in this moment, I believe it for my family. I will be a better wife and mother because of this. Darnell will be a better husband and father. Kaleb will be a better big brother, and Micah will be a stronger little dude. We'll get through this. I'm learning to pray with full faith, trying my hand at this whole "declare and decree" thing. It's all new to me, but I believe God has a plan for my son and his journey is only just beginning.

You have to believe the same. Someone reading this is in a storm. Someone is angry, worried, or scared. You're not sure what the outcomes are going to be. You feel blindsided and unprepared. Know that ALL things are working together. God loves you. You have been called according to His purposes. YOUR journey is just beginning. Cry. Question. Allow yourself to feel those uncomfortable emotions. Then, stop what you are doing and pray. Petition God for the help and strength you need to make it day to day, minute to minute. In the infamous words of Kendrick Lamar, "'long as God got us....we gone be alright!" Be Blessed. XOXO