Julia: When there are no answers

Yes, they’ve checked everything. Viral foes. Cancer possibilities. Blood pressure fluctuations. Vitamin deficiencies. Neurological tests. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

It’s hard when you don’t know.

I am home for a moment. After a week without sleep (I couldn’t sleep in Haiti; fie on insomnia), I slept in my own bed and slept like a drunkard–deep and hard. I feel like a new woman today. Which is good because I will head to the hospital for what could be a longer stay. I’m packing my suitcase.

Her headaches got worse last night. She’s in pain.

I’d so appreciate prayers. Some thoughts:

  • More than anything, please pray that Julia would feel God’s presence in a tangible, nonforsaken way. I want her to know Jesus’ shepherd care, that He is near, and grieving and hurting alongside her.
  • Diagnosis. This is making me crazy with fear. We want to know why. We want to know what. We want to know how. We want to know when.
  • Finances. Not provision per se, but freedom from the fear that brings. I’m trying very hard not to think about it.
  • Sophie as she goes back to college today. It’s not easy to concentrate on school when your sister is in the hospital with an unknown diagnosis.
  • Aidan as he tries to navigate high school for the same reasons. He’s had a brutal schedule this week with band, homecoming (band again), and a band competition yesterday.
  • Patrick as he goes back to work and carries this on his shoulders.
  • Me as I stay by her side. Pray I would be the hands and feet and heart of Jesus. I also have a book release this week, which is such a minor thing, but the logistics of that and doing all the things (or rescheduling) is daunting to me. Also pray about malaria. I’m taking pills for it, and will continue to do so, but I did get bit a lot, and my immune system is shot right now.

I am grateful for:

  • Your amazing prayers and support. One note: I will not be able to respond individually to your emails. It’s just too overwhelming. I would imagine you’d understand.
  • Our Life Group at church who has gone out of their way to transport, pray, feed, and support. I feel their community like a healing salve. It’s humbling and beautiful, and it makes me cry right now. Lakepointe church, YOU ROCK.
  • Patrick’s job that provides for us.
  • A sense that we are being tested. I know that sounds really masochistic. But truly, I’ve been ruminating on suffering and why some folks seem to have more than others. Or how we thrive in the midst. I’ve come to the conclusion that trauma will either enlarge or diminish us. And I’m praying that we would enlarge, our hearts would break for people under similar circumstances. Even at the airport when I was weeping and losing phone battery, I saw this in action. The luggage guys let me use their outlet. And this dear young man shared how his dad had died and how hard it had been. I had a chance to empathize, and that blessed me so much. Though it’s not fun to feel others’ wounds (oh how it hurts), I know that Jesus did that to the best degree. And if we are to be more like Jesus, pain will have to biggify our hearts for the sake of others.
  • My bed. Oh it’s just so blessedly comfortable. Dear Bed, I will miss thee.
  • Hospital food that is not icky at all.
  • Julia continues to be conscious and alert. She is still Julia.
  • This strange, amazing feeling of peace, like many people are praying, and those prayers are keeping me from falling apart. I can’t describe it. It may be shock, but I can’t discount the thousands of prayers rattling the heavenlies on our behalf.

Thanks for reading this extremely long post. I’m not sure how often I’ll be able to post here, but this is where the updates will be. Instead of texting or emailing me for the latest, please check here first.

Also, I have several posts that are in the cue this week that are already written. Tomorrow it’ll be the post about incentives you’ll receive if you purchase my new book Everything. I wanted you to know ahead of time. It’s been in the cue a long time, and it will run. By no means does that mean I’m ignoring our very real situation. Actually, I’m grateful I had posts in the queue. It takes the pressure off.

Thank you for your prayers. It seems small to say that, but I sincerely, truly mean it. They are our oxygen.

Thankful for sleep,

Mary

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