|This is August.|
Isn't he adorable?
I'm praying for their family. But sometimes it's not enough to just pray and keep it between you and God. Sometimes people need to know that there is someone really reaching out to God on their behalf.
I wrote this letter for my friend. But maybe it could help others, too. So here it is.
Dear Andy and Andrea,
I am so sorry to hear about August's diagnosis. I have had to take my son to the emergency room a couple of times in his four years. Once we thought he may have broken his finger when it got caught in the van door. The other time he got the Incredible Hulk's head stuck in his nose. Yeah, you read that right. FYI, if your kid ever gets the Hulk's head stuck up his nose the Emergency Room staff will stare blankly at you for a full minute because there is no ICD-9 code for admitting that particular injury. Anyhow, as ridiculous as those two trips to the hospital were, they were also completely agonizing because my boy was hurt, crying, and in pain and I was completely helpless to do anything about it. I cannot even imagine what you must be going through.
I heard that donations were being collected for your son and your family. I so badly wanted to be able to contribute, to show you my love and support. I wanted to buy every toy imaginable for your son to keep him happy and occupied during his stay at the hospital. I wanted to get special little treasures for your daughter so she would know that she is not forgotten and that, while much of the focus is on August, we remember that she is going through this, too. I wanted to get a gift card for a spa day for Andrea so that she can take a little time to relax and recharge herself before continuing to be a pillar for her family. I wanted to get you, Andy... well, I don't know what I would have gotten you. A gift card for coffee? I don't know. Men are hard to buy for. I would have come up with something great. The point is, my heart was there, but my wallet has moths flying out of it.
I wanted to come visit you in the hospital and bring you cookies and comfort food and hug your kids and tell them that everything would be okay. I wanted to hug the two of you and let you know that I am there for you. Really there for you. But the truth is, if it wasn't for Facebook, you would just be that guy I went to high school with. Aside from seeing you driving a fire truck in parades down Titus Avenue, I really haven't seen you in person in 20+ years, and Stranger Danger is real.
|This photo breaks my heart.|
I wanted to give you all the distractions, all the love, and all the support that I could. But the only thing that I really have to give to you that will make any difference at all is my prayers. And I have been praying. Not like some people say, "Oh, I'll pray for you, sweetie," and they never really think of you again. I've been fervently praying for your boy and for your entire family. I'll continue to do so until the day I read the Facebook post, "August is cancer-free!!!" I am praying for you. Everyday. Because that is all I have to give that is of any true value.
The past few days as I pray for August's continued healing and asking God for a scripture, Psalm 23 keeps popping into my head. I keep pushing it out because that's the one that is so often recited at funerals. Why would God give me a scripture like that when I'm praying and believing for total healing? But it was persistent, so I decided to take a closer look and study it further.
I am so glad I did because I received a revelation, and a verse that has always seemed like a depressing funeral dirge to me is really an anthem for life. I'm sure you've heard it:
1 The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
2 He makes me to lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the still waters.
3 He restores my soul; He leads me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake.
4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil;
For you are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.
That was the verse that got me; verse 4. It's great. It sounds awful. You're walking through the valley of the shadow of death. That's gotta suck. Who wants to walk through Death Valley? There is no possible way to make that sound like a good time, it's true. But that sentence also holds so much hope.
Think about it. You're walking through the valley of the shadow of death. You're walking. You're not standing, or sitting, or laying down or dying in the valley of death. You're not setting up camp. You're not making plans to make it your permanent home. You're not staying there. You're walking! And not only are you walking, but you're walking through. You're not wandering aimlessly. You have a destination. You're walking through it, and you will come out the other side. Those green pastures are waiting for you.
Then there's that shadow of death. I don't know about you, but that gives me the heebie-jeebies. But it's not death we walk through, because Jesus defeated death. It's just the shadow of death. Well, not JUST. Any kid can tell you that shadows can be super scary. But the thing about shadows is that you can't get a shadow without a light. Total darkness casts no shadow. There is light. There is hope. Focus on the light, and you will find your way out of the shadow.
Yeah, God's got your back on this one. I like to picture him beating cancer to death with a big ugly stick and yelling, "Not my baby! Not today!" Because that's what's happening. It's what you're doing every time you hold your sleeping boy's hand. And I just wanted you to know, that it's what I'm doing, too.
I look forward to seeing that Facebook post that confirms what we already know, that you're boy is healthy and cancer-free. :-)
"Silver and gold I do not have, but what I do have I give you."