...and then bad news comes again

I woke up yesterday morning to Jason's sudden calling of my name and lights in our bedroom suddenly turned on.

Turns out Moriah was unresponsive--though breathing and fever-free--and we needed all-hands-on-deck.

We hemmed and hawed a bit. Her vitals were good. Her lungs sounded clear. But instinct won out, and we quickly loaded her into the car and brought Moriah to the pediatrician's (by then, she was at least crying and seemed less floppy). We kindly but firmly argued our way through the front desk and into the first appointment. As we sat in the waiting room, Moriah began to improve, and by the time we saw the doctor, we were wondering if we had wasted our time. She seemed suddenly fine. A flu, maybe?

But no. The doctor came in, spoke with us for a few moments, and said the dreaded words: "I see she has a neurological history...what you're describing is a classic case of seizure." (Many of you remember that Moriah suffered from a month-long battle with infantile spasms at 6 months of age, putting her at risk for future seizure disorders throughout her lifetime).

Moriah recovered yesterday; by mid-morning, she ate breakfast and had resumed talking and walking. We've talked with Moriah's neurologist today and he's ordered an EEG for Wednesday afternoon.

After the good news of Moriah's cardiology appointment, we are living again with the unknown, and doing what parents do: keeping fear at bay by staying busy, going about the usual, and encouraging each other with hugs and kind words.

In the busyness of this week--Jason's grandmother passed away mid-week last week, and the memorial service is tomorrow; Jackson's soccer season is begun; we have many appointments as Orilus is moving to a new town and school district (we are working hard to keep the details of his life private, but many of you know by now that he has not been able to live at home with us for many months); my teaching at Gordon College begins Thursday--we can't understand the sense of "one more thing," especially one more painful thing, added to our life.

But things do not always make sense. Life is not pain-free. The future is not certain. Wellness is not guaranteed.

In the truth of all that, we want to be accepting of our life, and angry about the injustice of suffering. We want to be at peace, and to grieve. We want pain to do a work in us that makes us softer, not harder, people.

This is much, much harder than it seems, this abiding-with-God in all things.

"This is a hard teaching," the disciples said to Christ. "Who can accept it?" Sometimes I cannot. But like Peter, we recognize that there is nowhere to run, nowhere else to go, no one else in whom such hope and grace abides.

We appreciate your prayers for us as we run, then, into the unknown--accompanied, we believe in faith, by a loving God--and as we hope the journey produces in us the kinds of life that would make the trip meaningful and more bearable.