The Value of Crisis
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord,
“plans to proper you and not to harm you,
Plans to give you hope and a future.
Jeremiah 29:11
Years ago I gave birth to my first son, Paul. He was beautiful. A large baby, he had a round face and chubby little fingers from the moment he was born. He looked pink, healthy and perfect. He wasn’t. Day five of his life saw him back in the hospital, hooked up to an IV, not very pink, and according to the doctors, not at all healthy. Day four brought seizures into Paul’s life and that meant hospitalization to determine the cause. The cause, which we found out a week later, was an error in judgment on the part of the delivering physician. Too much pressure on Paul’s tiny, delicate skull caused blood vessels to break and bleed into his brain. As the blood in the brain was reabsorbed the brain seized. “We’re so sorry but your baby has brain damage.” The message was basically, oops, that’s not good but go home, put him on this medicine and get over it. In other words, my perfect, wonderful first born child’s life started in crisis. At the time I felt awful, then I called in every faithful person I knew to pray and to bless that baby. Once I knew he would live, I thought no matter who he is or what he can or cannot do, this is my baby and I will raise him and love him, the end!
Today Paul is approaching his thirtieth birthday. He is tall, thin, handsome, and brilliant. I was told he wouldn’t speak well. He spoke in full sentences at not quite two. I was told he would have fine motor issues. There was a phase at around eighteen months when he seemed unable to take three steps without tripping, but that was hurry not brain damage. He could take toys apart and occasionally put them back together by three. There is no brain damage.
I tell you this because this morning I read about how boring the miraculous stories of the Bible would be if we removed the crisis section. True! If I said, my son was born perfect but we faced a bit of a challenge and now he’s great. You would say, ho-hum, who cares? The truth is much more dramatic and compelling. I went through, he may not live, oh, okay he’ll live but with questionable quality of life to there’s significant brain damage, we’ll see. And here comes my favorite words, BUT GOD, had other plans. The miracle is that Paul is whole and well, of course, but it is so much more than that.
Paul is twenty-nine. He learned to walk and talk. He went to kindergarten. He graduated from high school and college. He dated, learned to drive, married a lovely girl and has a wonderful life. Every time he’s hit a milestone, large or small I have praised God. Paul’s life is a miracle.
Paul has three siblings. All three were born without incident. They’ve faced some illnesses but nothing out of the ordinary. They have given me sleepless nights because of choices they have made but we’ve weathered those storms.
None of us enjoys the crisis. I cried every day that Paul was in that hospital. Five days that felt like fifty. I prayed and hoped at each test after that until I could see that my son was fine, miraculously without damage, even though the test still said the damage exists. But, that crisis showed me the value of Paul’s life and beyond that the value of Joseph, Jeffrey and Laura’s lives as well.
Not one of my children has cured a disease, gone to the moon, or invented a life changing tool. They are wonderful, flawed, ordinary human beings and I marvel at each one of them because, through crisis, I know what could have been.
The crisis part stinks. It hurts. It’s scary and no one likes it. In the moment we wish it could be any other way but in retrospect we are pleased for the glimpse of God’s power. I will never enjoy a crisis but I can look at Paul and know that somewhere in that pain there is a gem. It may take awhile to see it, too long sometimes, but it is there.
“plans to proper you and not to harm you,
Plans to give you hope and a future.
Jeremiah 29:11
Years ago I gave birth to my first son, Paul. He was beautiful. A large baby, he had a round face and chubby little fingers from the moment he was born. He looked pink, healthy and perfect. He wasn’t. Day five of his life saw him back in the hospital, hooked up to an IV, not very pink, and according to the doctors, not at all healthy. Day four brought seizures into Paul’s life and that meant hospitalization to determine the cause. The cause, which we found out a week later, was an error in judgment on the part of the delivering physician. Too much pressure on Paul’s tiny, delicate skull caused blood vessels to break and bleed into his brain. As the blood in the brain was reabsorbed the brain seized. “We’re so sorry but your baby has brain damage.” The message was basically, oops, that’s not good but go home, put him on this medicine and get over it. In other words, my perfect, wonderful first born child’s life started in crisis. At the time I felt awful, then I called in every faithful person I knew to pray and to bless that baby. Once I knew he would live, I thought no matter who he is or what he can or cannot do, this is my baby and I will raise him and love him, the end!
Today Paul is approaching his thirtieth birthday. He is tall, thin, handsome, and brilliant. I was told he wouldn’t speak well. He spoke in full sentences at not quite two. I was told he would have fine motor issues. There was a phase at around eighteen months when he seemed unable to take three steps without tripping, but that was hurry not brain damage. He could take toys apart and occasionally put them back together by three. There is no brain damage.
I tell you this because this morning I read about how boring the miraculous stories of the Bible would be if we removed the crisis section. True! If I said, my son was born perfect but we faced a bit of a challenge and now he’s great. You would say, ho-hum, who cares? The truth is much more dramatic and compelling. I went through, he may not live, oh, okay he’ll live but with questionable quality of life to there’s significant brain damage, we’ll see. And here comes my favorite words, BUT GOD, had other plans. The miracle is that Paul is whole and well, of course, but it is so much more than that.
Paul is twenty-nine. He learned to walk and talk. He went to kindergarten. He graduated from high school and college. He dated, learned to drive, married a lovely girl and has a wonderful life. Every time he’s hit a milestone, large or small I have praised God. Paul’s life is a miracle.
Paul has three siblings. All three were born without incident. They’ve faced some illnesses but nothing out of the ordinary. They have given me sleepless nights because of choices they have made but we’ve weathered those storms.
None of us enjoys the crisis. I cried every day that Paul was in that hospital. Five days that felt like fifty. I prayed and hoped at each test after that until I could see that my son was fine, miraculously without damage, even though the test still said the damage exists. But, that crisis showed me the value of Paul’s life and beyond that the value of Joseph, Jeffrey and Laura’s lives as well.
Not one of my children has cured a disease, gone to the moon, or invented a life changing tool. They are wonderful, flawed, ordinary human beings and I marvel at each one of them because, through crisis, I know what could have been.
The crisis part stinks. It hurts. It’s scary and no one likes it. In the moment we wish it could be any other way but in retrospect we are pleased for the glimpse of God’s power. I will never enjoy a crisis but I can look at Paul and know that somewhere in that pain there is a gem. It may take awhile to see it, too long sometimes, but it is there.
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