“The world will know you are my disciples by the way you love one another.” – Jesus

Today, Grayson is 10 days old, and what an unbelievable difference a week makes. Last week, around this time we were still wondering whether he would survive at all. He was sedated constantly and machines did all the breathing for him. Any doctor or nurse in the NICU would have told you that he was the sickest baby on the floor. Today, his doctor told me that he is shocked at how quickly Grayson has not only recovered but advanced. He no longer requires machines to breath for him. In fact, yesterday he pulled out the nasal cannulas (which provide a little extra air through his nostrils) and went back to sleep. The nurse found him peacefully slumbering with the tubes resting below his chin (and his vital signs were still great). Grayson has been weaned off of all but one antibiotic, and he is starting to put on weight thanks to large amounts of his mommy’s milk. He truly is our miracle baby.

His improvement is so drastic that when the nurses needed to choose one of four children to move from the critical area of the NICU to the room where more stable babies reside, Grayson was deemed the most healthy and stable. What a difference a week makes! Undoubtedly the doctors have played a significant role in preserving my son’s life, but even modern advances in medicine can’t take the full credit for Grayson’s radical recovery.

There is nothing quite so difficult as walking with a loved one who is hurting, especially when that loved one is vulnerable and we are powerless to protect them. In every way, these last few weeks have been a crucible that has left us both physically and emotionally exhausted. Yet, we haven’t carried the weight alone, nor have we grieved and hoped and prayed alone. Over the last three and a half weeks there have been literally hundreds of Christ-followers, some of whom Cathy and I have ever met, who have been praying and interceding with God for our son. Some have gone so far as to fast from eating for a child whom they’ve never met.

Then there has been the gentle, loving embrace of our faith community. We have been showered with texts and cards and flowers, meals and even gas cards to help defray the cost of driving to the hospital.  One woman from our church cleaned our home today so that we wouldn’t have to worry about it! Talk about love! It’s seasons like this that remind me just how grateful I am to be a part of a loving community that grieves with us in our times of sorrow, rejoices in our times of joy, and prays for us in our times of need. We truly are loved, and that has made a huge difference for us during this painful chapter in our lives. It is encouraging knowing that we aren’t the only ones on our knees for Grayson. Every time we eat a meal that’s been prepared for us, we are reminded that we are loved. And as I walk into rooms in my house that haven’t been this clean for weeks, even months, I’m reminded that we don’t have to carry the burden alone.

So, thank you for loving my family so well. Thank you for being shoulders we can lean on and cry on. Thank you for being prayer warriors for my son – and keep those prayers coming because they are working! We are grateful for the ways you have walked along side of us through this trying time, and for the testimony your love has been to our neighbors and hospital staff and even my friends on Facebook. We love you too.  

Grayson's Grand Entrance

           The last two and a half weeks have been an emotional roller coaster and proof that we simply are not in control of our lives. On Tuesday, Aug. 23, Cathy and I were relaxing on the couch after our weekly date-night when suddenly Cathy was sitting in a puddle of water. Though Grayson wasn’t due for another 3 months (Nov. 20 due date), her water had broken and the birthing process seemed to have begun. Thankfully, Cathy’s mother was over and was able to watch our sleeping son Ethan so I could rush Cathy to the hospital. For all we knew, we were having our son that evening, but thankfully the doctors were able to get her stable and so long as she didn’t lose too much more water and she didn’t develop an infection, Grayson could stay inside for upwards of another 7 weeks.

            Unfortunately, that would mean Cathy would have to remain in a hospital bed until our son was born, which could be as much as 7 weeks from that first terrifying night. The first days were the hardest as Cathy’s body protested the lack of movement, and Cathy despaired over not being able to be there for Ethan. But she was able to see him for moments, first in the hospital and then, when he developed a cold, via Skype. We were also overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and support from our family and friends. So many were praying for a safe, long pregnancy and a safe birth. We felt loved and hopeful, though by the time we reached the two week mark we couldn’t begin to fathom staying in the hospital for another 5 weeks.

             In the end, we needn’t have worried about it. On Sunday, September 4, 2011, which happened to be the 29 week mark, Grayson made it clear that he was done waiting. I just happened to be in the hospital at the time (there is no coincidence with God) when the doctor on duty indicated that Grayson’s heart rate was concerning. She did an ultrasound to look for movement, but over 45 minutes Grayson didn’t even stir. Something was definitely wrong and they couldn’t wait any longer. He had to come out.

            Cathy’s C-section was not nearly as scary for me as I had anticipated, probably because I was focused on the wellbeing of my son (and because I was being the strong one so that Cathy could find hope and comfort in me). And when he was first pulled from her womb, his strong little cry of protest was music to this daddy’s ears. His lungs were working and he was clearly unhappy about being disturbed. I was even more encouraged when he weighed in at a very respectable 3 pounds, which is tiny but good sized for a baby who should have had 3 more months to grow.

            I left Cathy in the capable hands of the surgeons and walked my newborn son to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) which would become his home for the foreseeable future. They initially gave him the opportunity to breathe on his own, and to my untrained eyes the huge rise and fall of his little chest was encouraging. Little did I know that he was really in distress. His lungs were not fully developed and he was having a very hard time getting them to open up. (as an analogy, think of trying to blow up a balloon for the first time. It’s always much harder than adding air to an already inflated balloon). On top of that, it seems he also had pneumonia which makes breathing hard enough for adults with years of practice.

            The first 36 hours were like the first huge, gut-wrenching drop of a rollercoaster. It just seemed to go on and on. First we woke to find that he had been put on a flutter-breathing machine (used for those infants who need the most help breathing). Later that day, as I stopped by to say goodbye to Grayson so I could go home to be with Ethan for a while, I learned that his lung had collapsed moments before I knocked on the NICU door and they were scrambling to get it reinflated. They also indicated that they’d discovered an infection in my boy’s blood that they were trying to identify so they could begin treating it. Throughout that day, though I was home with Ethan trying to give him some quality daddy time, my mind was spinning with anxiety and worst-case-scenarios. At one point, Ethan actually yelled “Daddy, pay attention to me,” and I realized that he needed me too, but I was relieved to get back to the hospital to spend the night with Cathy and wait for more news.

            Unfortunately, the news was bad enough that it couldn’t wait for the morning. Our son’s doctor woke us from a dead sleep at 2AM to inform us that his lung had collapsed again and a second surgery had been performed to insert another tube into his chest to bleed the air out of his chest cavity so that his little lung could have the space to inflate. Four hours later, they called us to inform us that he was anemic and in need of a blood transfusion. Since one of the common side effects of premature birth was bleeding in the brain (tantamount to a stroke), of course our minds went there. Needless to say, we were nervous wrecks throughout the better part of that third day of our son’s life. Somewhere in the middle of that second night, my mind stopped asking “when” my son would come home, and began to wonder “if” he would ever come home at all. As we prayed throughout that long, painful day, I found myself ask God over and over for my son, tearfully saying “I want him God, I want my son. Please let me have him.”

            At that point, some 48 hours into Grayson’s brief life, all we had been given was bad news and I began to wonder if this rollercoaster’s first severe drop would ever end. But then, we began to get good news. His right lung, which had been the one which collapsed, was reinflated and stable. They were treating Grayson for his infection, even though they hadn’t identified exactly what it was. And then, at 4pm on September 7, I got the call that released the floodgates: a brain-scan revealed that my son had ZERO bleeding in his brain. He was ok in that department. I didn’t realize just how heavily I had been carrying the weight of worry about that until it was lifted. Though he was in no way out of the woods, and the road to health and home would be long, for the time being he was ok.

            I often talk about the fact that, as Christ followers, we aren’t guaranteed easy, painless lives. In fact, we are warned that in this world we will have trouble, but that we can take heart in the fact that Jesus has overcome the brokenness of this world. Yet, in the midst of this painful journey I have often come to God with the painful question of “WHY?” Why allow my wife’s water to break? Why allow the infection that forced his premature birth? Why allow my infant son’s first 48 hours to be so difficult? I may never know the answers to those questions. I may never recognize the divine purpose behind the horrendous emotional tsunami that has just washed over us. But I do know that whatever comes and however this rollercoaster plays out, God is worthy of our praise. My greatest desire would be for my life to bring God glory and to draw others closer to Him. My greatest prayer for my infant son is that he would come to know God intimately and his life would bring God glory. If God’s purpose is best accomplished through this ordeal, even if means that my son will never meet his big brother in this world, then so be it. Of course, that’s far easier to write while my boy is stable and improving.

            It is so easy to get focused on the here and now and think that life is all about being safe and comfortable. But our stories are simply a small part of a much larger story, God’s grand narrative. We each get to play a part in that epic story, but must never delude ourselves into the belief that we are the central characters or that our comfort is the greatest outcome. So, God, glorify yourself through my family and have your way with my son. But I would really like to bring a healthy little baby to meet his big brother. I want to raise Grayson, but your will be done Father. I entrust him into your hands.