Monday, May 11, 2009


Micah turned six last Thursday. I still am having trouble wrapping my mind around how fast the years fly by. The first couple years of his life are a little bit blurry. The boys are two years and five months apart and I did feel slightly insane dealing with the terrible twos and a new baby who wasn't extremely difficult or anything but literally came out of the womb coughing. And because he struggled with lung-issues, he was always fussy and constantly wanted to be held. But I have to admit, I enjoyed holding him, all of the time. After we had Ayla, my mom informed me that she never even remembered holding Micah because he always wanted me. (Didn't remember that, must have been a bit blurry too.) Around the eighth month of his life, I took him to the doctor's office and told him that I knew something was wrong because Jonah never sounded like the penguin (Wheezy) on Toy Story and Micah did. From that day on, Micah has been on some sort of asthma medication. Joe and I have gone back and forth through the years. We would try one med. and then take him off after a couple of months because we were worried about the side effects. Thankfully, we have medicine readily available but I really can't stand pumping his little body full of it. Watching my son struggle with this sickness has tested my faith, in God, more than any other issue in my life that I can think of. Countless nights, he has waken up coughing, violently, sounding like an old man who had horrible bronchitis. On numerous occasions throughout his young life, I have cried out to my God, "Why? Why Lord, don't you heal my little boy? Don't I have enough faith?" One night we took Micah to a healing service at out church and had hands laid upon him and people were praying over him for God to intervene. And I am not exaggerating when I tell you that we were up with him all night giving him Albuterol treatments because his symptoms worsened.

In my opinion, there is nothing more horrible, as a mother, than watching your child suffer. How I longed, long for my Lord to make him better, completely. Hundreds and hundreds of prayers have been uttered from my lips. For some reason, my God chooses not to take this completely away from Micah. Being completely honest, I am not sure why but I do know that He CAN miraculously heal him, if He so chooses.

I have witnessed miracles in my life time. My little sister, Elizabeth, was born with "low muscle tone". That was the diagnosis after much testing. She didn't role over until she was 13 months old and never crawled. Instead she would sit with her little legs like a frog and scoot around the floors of our home. A therapist came to our house once or twice a week and she was in a special program with other children who couldn't walk or were physically disabled in some way. At the time, my mom was a brand new Christian and she tells me that she actually experienced "the peace that passes all understanding" when praying for Elizabeth. She envisioned her in a wheel chair, playing the piano ( little sister is an extremely gifted musician who happens to play the piano and sing and write music, amazingly!). Even if she never walked, my mom had this PEACE, but she did pray that Elizabeth would walk before she turned two, if she was going to. Two weeks before her 2nd birthday, my baby sister took her first step. The doctors and therapists couldn't explain it. But we could, and we did. My mom's response to any inquisition was always, "It was a miracle. I believe that God healed her." I know He heals. I know He can.

Right around the same time, my mom was smoking a pack of cigarettes a day and had been for a long time. My mom tells us that she loved smoking. She loved sipping a cup of coffee in one hand and smoking a cigarette in another. I distinctly remember her pack of Marlbolo reds on the table next to the ashtray. She would never buy more than one at a time. Every morning my dad would drive up to the gas station down the street and pick up her pack for the day. So, my mom had been praying to God. She told Him that she didn't want to quit smoking, she told Him that she loved it, and that if He wanted her to quit, that He would just have to take it away from her. I don't know how long my mom prayed this prayer, but I do remember her one morning, in her green bathrobe in our little living room, and my dad standing at the door letting her know that he was going to go up and get her cigarettes, and my mom telling him that she didn't need them, because she wasn't going to smoke anymore. She hasn't touched a cigarette since that very day and when people asked her how she did it, her response always is the same, "I didn't quit, God took smoking away from me." And I believe He did. I know He did. I know He is able.

I know that God uses circumstances in people's lives for reasons. My mom was a young believer when these amazing miracles occurred. Her own personal faith in Him increased as well as others' around her. This childlike faith is attainable, I know that because I had it. I was three years old when my baby sister was born, five when she walked, I remember it, I lived it. Thinking back on this now, I am so grateful that our Lord was magnified in so many ways that were oblivious to me as a child.

And I can't even try to figure out why, why God chooses to do the things he does and doesn't do, and honestly, I don't even have a desire to know why. What I do know and have been reminded of tonight, is that my Lord is the one in charge. Everything big and small is in His hands. And it's not all about me and my little family and my little world. It's about Him and He is the Most magnificent miracle to have ever existed or that will ever exist. He is the Alpha and Omega, He is I AM and I want everyone, everywhere to know that HE IS LOVE. His love is deeper than the deepest ocean and higher than the highest mountain peak. And right now I want to thank Him for miraculously intervening and revealing His deep, deep love to me.