I wish I remembered dates, but I don't. The date doesn't really matter in this story, but I think it was 1970. My youngest child was just an infant at the time. That would make my number one child around five-years-old. He is the one this story is about--a story of grace and answered prayers.
My cute little guy's blue eyes and impish smile melted everyone's hearts. What a natural charmer he was. But a time of concern came upon my husband and me when we noticed that our son kept playing with a spot on his cheek, pinching and poking at the same place throughout the day. When we finally checked out what he was doing, we discovered he had a BB sized lump under the skin.
What were we dealing with?
A local specialist thought it was something that would get smaller and go away--an infection maybe. But, we were to keep an eye on it. So we did. Instead of disappearing, the lump got larger. The doctor now felt we were dealing with a tumor. He then explained that because children's tumors grow quite rapidly, he was concerned about the supposed tumor's close proximity of the brain.
Surgery now stared us in the face--so did another problem. The tumor could involve the nerve to the corner of the mouth. If that were the case, our son could lose his ability to smile. He would probably also drool; however, the doctor assured us he would operate as if our son were his own son. But he could make no promises about the outcome.
The first couple days, everything was scary. We were concerned about the surgery itself as well as possible hardships our son could face. I had a second concern. It was for the baby I was nursing at the time. Would stress cause problems for me or the baby? All these worries were short lived because this was where prayer entered the picture.
While we waited the arrival of our surgery, our friends and church family prayed for us. As a result, God answered. Personally, he met me in an unusual way (at least I thought it was unusual). Instead of worrying about all the "bad" things that could happen, I began to understand that our son, a God-given gift, was ours to love, care for, and instruct--for a season. How long would that be? I had no idea. But that mind set brought me peace of mind, and not fear.
During the waiting game, I watched with awe as not only our son (the patient) but also our two-year-old daughter experienced each new day with joy, curiosity, and discovery. During those days, the Lord opened my eyes to what a gift these children really were. He also opened my eyes to his faithfulness. This came as I watched my infant son eagerly take in his surroundings as he nursed.
Thank you, Lord, for answered prayers.
The night before surgery, our friends didn't sleep very well. They awoke quite often and prayed for us, for our son, and for the doctor. Both my husband and I slept soundly the entire night. That was another answer to prayers.
Surgery day--all went well. The tumor wasn't a tumor after all. It was a lymph node infected with tuberculosis! Talk about weird. First off, there shouldn't have been a lymph node in the middle of the cheek. Secondly, we didn't use raw milk, the usual source of TB in children.
The TB mystery went unsolved. The family took anti-tuberculin drugs for a year. And, as forty-three blessing-filled years have passed, I still view my adult children as I did when they were small: gifts God has given me for a season.
I continue thanking the Lord for long-ago trials that showed me the gift of children.
Jan
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