Sometimes, I am too overwhelmed with the magnitude of our situation to post an update. Sometimes, I am in denial. Sometimes, I don’t tell my friends we are back in the hospital to give them a break from serving us over and over and over. Sometimes I am too sad to place my feelings into words.
This week was one of those ‘sometimes’. And I know every caregiver of a chronically ill person can understand my ‘sometimes’.
We left the hospital last week in rough shape with a beat-up body from the plasmapheresis toll and a urinary tract infection (UTI) from Rebecca’s fistula. But with an arsenal of antibiotics, we felt Rebecca could recover best from home.
Only Rebecca did not recover, she got worse. Much worse.
The UTI turned into a full-blown kidney infection and Rebecca’s susceptible liver turned a bad corner. We spent days trying everything we could keeping Rebecca home – different oral antibiotic combinations, intramuscular shots of antibiotics, but nothing worked. So, we headed back to the hospital – this time for Easter.
Easter has always been a sacred holiday for the Taylor family outside of the obvious reason.
Alexander and Nicholas were baptized on Easter – dedicating their life to a Savior who sacrificed for them before they were ever born.
And Easter has been the ONLY holiday (major and minor) Rebecca has not spent in the hospital. The past 11 years, Rebecca has experienced every holiday in the hospital multiple times, yet never once Easter. She might be released the week beforehand or admitted the day after, but somehow in a divinely-fashioned way, Rebecca never entered the hospital on Easter Day.
We always thought there was something magical about this bizarrely beautiful fact. Jesus’ resurrection somehow equated our physical, emotional and most importantly, spiritual rest. Even if that rest was shortly lived, we felt protected in the sanctity of this brief Sabbath – our unexpected miracle year after year after year.
Easter was our sacred space. And we counted on that sacredness.
When we realized a hospitalization on Easter was inevitable – Rebecca cried and cried. She begged to stay home – surely some medication could work and this miraculous tradition between her and God would remain intact. And yet, despite Rebecca’s pleas – her body worsened, and fevers abounded.
So, the Taylors spent Easter in a hospital filled with pokes and prods and needles and lack of sleep while hooked up to IV antibiotics. And the magic of Easter was no longer magical.
Another line in the sand crossed….
Another one-way deal with God shattered….
What do we do when our sacred-space is invaded? How do we react when our holy moments are tainted? I have no words pretending to know why God allows certain things to happen. Especially things my human eyes view as good, pure, special and noble. God’s ways are not my ways. But I do know if the Lord wanted Rebecca home for Easter this year, He is all-powerful enough to make it happen. My God does not make mistakes.
God did not forget this was our ‘sacred’ holiday.
God did not forget our family desperately wanted to be together.
And God most certainly did not forget to heal my Rebecca.
“For My thoughts are not your thoughts,
Neither are your ways My ways,
declares the Lord.
For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are My ways higher than your ways
and My thoughts than your thoughts.”
Isaiah 55 8-9
The great I AM has a purpose even in the midst of our pain, hurt and confusion. I may not understand, but I don’t have to understand to trust my Creator’s heavenly ways are far greater than my limited earthly view. I don’t have to understand to love God.
And I love my God. Whether we are in the hospital, or home; whether it is Easter, or a regular day of the week – my love for the Lord is not based upon my location.
I just love Him.
And that love supersedes my desire for understanding – even in the hardest of circumstances.
Thank you Lord.
Love to each of you,