He sleeps beside me....

It's 10:12 pm on a Wednesday night, and I am exhausted.

I wish that I had a catchier way of introducing this blog post, but after racking my brain, this is all I've got. I could start off with something like the following:

     I've been at the hospital for the past three days!
    
     Cocooning: The art of complete seclusion from society for a period of a few weeks; practiced by families who have just recently adopted a child in order to establish a bond with that child.

Or the ever popular....
    
     There's a baby sleeping beside my bed.

     As catchy as the above starters may be (please feel free to cast votes or add a few recommendations of your own), there really is no better way to describe my current state than sheer exhaustion.

     Why?

     Well, because I have been in the hospital for the past three days, feeling a little like I am cocooning with the four month old baby boy who now sleeps beside my bed.

      Sunday morning, it was too wet to go to Malabon, the poor community where we do ministry and outreach. So Brittany and a few others went to church, and I stayed behind, promising to go to church with the boys that night. At about ten that morning, Ate Cher (Ah-tay Chair) pulled me aside and informed me that one of our babies was in distress and needed to go to the hospital. I would be the one to stay with him.

     Gentle Hands is a little bit like a miniature hospital. We treat tb patients, pull teeth, deliver babies, have oxygen machines, nebulizers, an ICU, small pharmacy, and will soon be the proud owners of an x-ray machine. We are prepared to handle almost anything. When Ate said the baby needed to go to the hospital, my heart immediately began to quicken because I knew this was serious. Hospitals are a last resort here.

     I ran upstairs to pack a few things, unsure of how many days I would be spending in the hospital (and all the while thanking God I had showered that morning). I tried to send an email to my mom, but my computer died... fairly typical. And no mom, I was not intentionally ignoring you. Please forgive me.

     I immediately went in to what I call my "crisis mode"... basically where I shut down emotionally in order to deal with the situation at hand. I worked quickly gathering my Bible, toothbrush, deodorant, etc.,  counting the minutes, and shoving away images of a dying Lucy that flooded my mind. Could I handle the death of another child?

     The hospital is only two minutes away. I could walk if necessary. We went into the ER, and immediately my sweet boy was hooked up to an iv, his little hand punctured over and over as they tried to find a vein. They drew blood, took x-rays, put him on oxygen, and then led us to our room.

     And there I waited.
                                  ... waited to see the doctor who prescribed medication for pneaumonia.

                                  ... waited as endless interns and nurses walked through the door
                                to take his temperature, ask questions, and simply stare at him.

                                  ... waited for someone to bring me food and clothes.

                                   ... waited for God to answer my prayers so we could go home.
    
     I wish I could say it was an easy time, and really, I can't complain. I had a television and a room to myself. But it was scary. And lonely. And he was scared, and at one point we were almost crying at the same time. Sick children are not easy... especially when they could take a wrong turn at any moment.

     Because what if I make a mistake and something happens and he gets worse? Even now, as he sleeps beside my bed, my mind still runs with anxious thoughts.

     I am more aware than ever of my lack of strength... my lack of control.  I am at the end of me, and more and more I realize just how little I have to give. Really, I have nothing to offer this child... I can't heal him, save him, even properly love him, because I am nothing.

     I need God. Not just want Him, or like saying the words because I sound more spiritual. No, my dry and blistered soul desperately needs the grace of a sovereign God to walk woth me through every moment. On my own, I simply cannot do this. It's too hard.

     It's now Wednesday, and we are finally home. I ask for prayers for my sweet boy who is getting better, but still very sick. I won't go into details,but he has some kind of respiratory infection (maybe or maybe not pneaumonia) and a few other issues that must be dealt with in order for him to be fully healed.

     I told Ate by the end of our hospital visit, Benjamin and I would either hate each other or I would have to adopt him (his name is Benjamin by the way). I really tried to fight it, but I'm leaning more towards the adoption side :) He even smiled at me today... something I have been praying to see, and it's just adorable.

     Please pray for my sweet Benjamin... my fighter with one very tired little body. Pray for wisdom and healing. Pray for strength.

      And even though I am tired and it's hard, I close my eyes and thank God for the blessing of loving this sweet boy. For the past few days, I have had the privilege of being his mom. And now I get one more night.

     Lack of sleep. Rambling thoughts that don't make sense. An extreme craving for French fries.

     All worth it for the little boy beside my bed. Praying Happy Thoughts over him. Praying for healing. Praying for life.