In the End, It Ain't No Thang: It Is Well with My Soul

I've avoided writing about this or even talking en masse about it, but for some reason, I'm going to do it now.  I want to know that I'm doing it because it's in my spirit, not because I needed to for some emotional release.

It's strange how much has changed since mid-June.  Then again, so little has really changed.  It's the implications of those changes I guess that most speak to a mother.  After a little boy's sickness, an ER trip, 24 hours in the hospital, and an inundation of information overload, we now have the change of giving Levi around 4 shots a day, usually in the arm, about 5 or 6 finger pricks to check his blood sugar level, and carrying around the yellow bag and the white notebook with us everywhere. 

It was an intense month or so after that, so why didn't I want to talk about it until now?  Well, where to begin...

First, we didn't want to invite other people's fear or pity into a situation that we knew was less significant than our God.  Our first response in all things is really no response at all; it's just our lifestyle of always giving Him praise in all things, being comforted and bolstered by the reality that HE does all things well and is greater than our circumstances and certainly greater than our enemies, even the sicknesses we're fighting here that carry an intimidation factor for many people.  In the ER, when I was awake next to Levi, where he slept soundly in the hospital bed while a nurse pushed more buttons around 3 am, I talked to Yahweh.  I prayed in the spirit to get His perspective for Levi and for our family.  And He gave it to me.  And I had both peace, strength, and a certain kick-your-a** attitude toward this enemy that would go after a four-year-old.  It is in these moments between me and God where He gives His specific heart, His mind, His perspective, and where I've transcended the haze that wants to settle and prophesy helplessness to us.  'Cause we're not helpless.  We don't want pity.  It sounds strange or arrogant, but that's not what I mean.  I just mean that when a person is fighting that "I'm a victim" thing that tries to debilitate us, pity makes it harder.  Pity is not a Kingdom mentality.  People in wheelchairs trying to live their lives don't usually want pity.  They want the same respect as everyone else. 

My dad called me about 10 days after everything went down, and he sounded terrible.  I thought something was very, very wrong.  (And I hadn't yet told him about our ER trip with Levi...)  He said he'd heard from one of his relatives in Mississippi and that she said, with lots of pity, "I'm soooo sorry about Jen's little girl..."  (For a family trying to keep it "close to home" for a bit, I am amazed at how it still managed to spread so far so quickly...people love to talk.)  Dad panicked and, true to his overly dramatic fashion, was sure that every other family member alive was in Vermont at a funeral.  Good grief!  Gossip tends to skew the facts, because people thread their emotions and misconceptions into it, and that was a huge reason why we were keeping our family stuff close to home.  So I assured him that nothing was wrong with Adelaide (the facts weren't even correct!), and that nothing was wrong with Levi.  He had gotten a diagnosis that required our attention but that it's attention we can give.  Before the 1920's, people didn't have such good options.

Another reason we didn't blab about it is because we needed some time to acclimate to it on our own and to work through our own grief and learn what we needed to learn and settle into the mind of Christ before we addressed everyone else's reactions (see the story about my dad and his extended family above).

I have also determined from the beginning that I will never grow used to it.  I do not ever want to grow comfortable acquiescing to this thing that has invaded our home.  I will fight it on the physical level, and I will fight it on the spiritual level.  By the same token, we want Levi and all of us to just go on with life, with business as usual, and not make a big deal out of the changes that have settled in.

Now when we go to the grocery store, if they have free cookies for kids, and if Levi wants one, he can't just grab one and eat it.  That goes for any snacky type of thing, and with a pregnant mom who's always grabbing food between meals, it can be a challenge.  In the mornings, he's just at that glorious age where he can sort of get himself dressed and going and was learning to grab a yogurt or something from the fridge while he waited for his (pregnant) mom to get going and get Adelaide and get breakfast.  Now, as he has to wait till I check his blood and to get his shots, I'm often awakened not just with snuggles but with a boy holding out his finger pricker and blood meter pouch so we can just get the show on the road!

Now we cannot leave the house without the yellow bag full of supplies and the white notebook that details every bite taken and the carbs therein, sugar levels, and the patterns that emerge.

We have old plastic water bottles sitting in cabinets around the house full of used sharps. 

And we always have a drawer full of string cheese in the fridge, as it's one thing Levi can just grab and eat without having to think about anything else.  If he really wants something else, he has to weigh whether or not it's worth an extra shot.

And is he ever my hero!  Most of the time, he's like, "Sure, I'll take the shot, whatever..."  Levi is so very unaffected by all the pricking and the sticking that I just ponder him and marvel.  Jed and I did everything in our power to remain above it all from day one at the hospital and to just treat it as, just, whatever.  It's what we do for now.  No big thing.  The worst times are when Levi asks why his pancreas stopped making insulin (and, yes, that's how he phrases it; nothing's lost on that one) or if Yahweh's going to fix it for him.  Ugh.  The best part?  That every time, the Father gives us the explanation needed that both alleviates the uncertainty and maintains God's majesty in all things.  We've had some great open doors for teaching the Kingdom and about what it really means to walk with the Lord through those honest question-and-answer sessions.

The funniest thing is hearing Levi talk about Yahweh to all the medical personnel, some of whom are believers but who are still somewhat dumbfounded into silence when they listen to him.  After that first rough day in the ER and a night full of slumber interruptions, Levi was walking around with his big IV tower on Day 2, and he took a deep breath and said, "Ahhh, today's a great day!!"  I was like, "Yeah, man, you're right!"  As the medical folks in the room dropped their jaws, I couldn't help but smile.  They're used to thrashing children, sobbing parents, and all the other perfectly natural responses that many give to such life alterations.  In Levi, they saw peace, and he told more than one random person, "Yahweh is stronger than anything!"  They had no idea what to say.  This is Vermont, after all.  Many people here have no grid for God, or certainly not for people who walk with Him and take Him seriously.  And certainly not in the midst of "bad news."

I had a moment this morning that is, I presume, responsible for this post.  I have been thankful since day one that this thing is something we can manage.  Before the 1920's when insulin (artificial) was invented, people just starved to death.  I in no way believe that doctors or scientists are God, but I do truly believe that medical advancements are part of the ever-increasing Kingdom.  I have gushed forth my thanks over and over that we live in a time when insulin has been invented and when it's a fairly basic routine to handle the issue at hand.  So before I ever allow myself to feel complain-y about constantly having to calculate every carb, then calculate the insulin, then give the shot(s), often times with Adelaide getting antsy about her food, and with Levi being always accommodating, I remember to be ever grateful that I can give a shot, just one silly shot.  No big deal.  One way sickness and death are enemies of our God is, I believe, in their ability to distract people from life, from what He's still doing, and worst of all, from relationship with Him that is not governed by an obsession with that sickness.  That will never be the case in this house.  We will handle what needs handling.  But Levi will never bear the stamp of "Diabetes."  That's another reason we don't talk about it much.  We have other, more important things to talk about, and that is part of how we fight stuff: never allowing it to rob us of carrying on with our lives and the purpose of Yahweh therein. 

Levi is always, first and foremost, and ever will be, "Yahweh's Son."  We'd be remiss to assume that means enemies don't rise that we must fight.  And fight we will.  But the fight does not ever define us.  When something rises against us, we say, "Bless God!  Thanks for the compliment.  Meet the bottom of my foot as I trample you.  In the meantime, while you're here, you'll be subjected to a constant worship of Yahweh.  Enjoy." 

And the sun goes on rising and setting, and our lives continue to increase from one glory to another, and all is well with our souls.