Listen...

Two weeks ago marks what should have been the most terrifying experience of my life. It was the earliest of mornings, as we had to arrive at the hospital by 6 AM. My brother came to our home at 5:00 to hang with my son all the way until his hospital pre-op. We dropped my oldest son off to my sister who took him to school and agreed to pick him up all week. En route, my husband got a bit squeamish. I told him to breathe, and thankfully we made it without incident.

We arrived to Surgery Admission to find our cousin standing there, bright eyed and smiling, waiting to simply be there for us. We were then admitted by a long-time family friend. The surgeon came in and gave us a 3 on a 1 to 10 scale of concern and complexity for what he was about to do. They gave my baby an iPad and walked us to a certain point where I could no longer be with him. We blew kisses and exchanged our "I love yous", but eventually, I had to let him go. My eyes welled a bit, but oddly no tears fell. After I watched him roll happily down the hall wearing a teddy bear gown and being easily distracted by the new iPad games, I turned to find my mother-in-law and father-in-law waiting right there with Darnell and I as we got on the elevator. We reached our floor and entered a waiting room that began to fill with siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, parents, and friends...OUR family. 

Our cousin led us in prayer, and within seconds the nurse practitioner came to inform us that the surgery had begun. For some odd reason, I was happy. There was a fleeting fear that subsided quickly as my brother-in-law brought Lamar's donuts, which can take your mind off almost anything. In less than 2 hours, the nurse practitioner came back down to say the surgery was a success and they were "closing him up". Half an hour later, she came with one more report. He was recovering, so we needed to move up to the PICU waiting room. 

No sooner than I was able to enter his room to see my little superhero sprawled out with 1,000 tubes and machines hooked up to him did our cousin, who works at the hospital, come in. She'd been there about 10 minutes when a friend of a friend, also employed by the hospital, came by specifically to pray with my husband and me. As the work day started to come to a close, the waiting room became a revolving door of family and friends until visiting hours ended. 

Micah had a week-long hospital stay with little rest, due in part to discomfort and constant monitoring, yet partly because he was never alone. There were many visitors, day in and day out. There was much kissing and spoiling and many toys and balloons and even more snacks and goodies and love...lots and lots of love. I thought to myself, "This little boy has no idea how much he is loved." Then God whispered to me, "And neither do you."

From the moment we found out about Micah, people cried with us, prayed for us, and extended their help, support, and love. The weeks leading up to the surgery were nothing but texts and calls and water-cooler tidbits of thoughts, prayers, and encouraging words. The day of the surgery our cell phones required constant charging and the hugs seemed endless. In the days since, it hasn't stopped. From surprise visits with dinner and cake and wine (so grateful) to continued check-ups and get-well wishes, it has been amazing to feel God's love through his people. 

I never really knew what it felt like to have a "peace that surpasses all understanding" until the day my son got his superhero heart. And I had never really been open to receiving God's love through so many people during such a touchy time. I'm used to keeping to together, having it together, and not depending on many for much. Micah's surgery actually opened my heart...opened it to receive something that I so freely give...LOVE. So, thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for all of your thoughts, prayers, well-wishes, hugs, and LOVE. Be Blessed. XOXO