when there is wonder and worry.

Friday morning started abruptly, Jared calling to me from Gabriel’s room.

“Babe, I think I need you to come in here,” the slightest hint of panic, definite uncertainty in his voice.

I bolted in to see him holding Gabriel, a pale face, heaving. Something red was smeared all over his crib sheet. Was that blood? Oh, my God. Is that BLOOD? Gabe was lethargic, didn’t look like himself. I called my mom, threw on a pair of boots, and he and I bolted to the Emergency Room.

We walked in the door and I stammered through the complicated explanation with a patient, nodding along nurse. “We think there may have been blood in his crib and he’s heaving and there’s mucus everywhere and he has a neuro-genetic condition it’s like CMT but it’s not CMT but his pulmonary system could someday be affected we just don’t know and so we have to be so careful.” The nurse was exactly how you hope a nurse will be – gentle, swift, understanding, listening, keeping things moving right along. She made me feel not crazy. This is not the point of an ER visit, but it matters. When your inner voices are battling, one telling you that you are paranoid, ridiculous for even coming here, the other telling you that your sons lungs could be failing, having someone agree with you provides an inner ceasefire, if only for a moment.

We saw a doctor, had chest x-rays conducted, discussed Gabriel’s condition overall and his condition that morning and were they related? The conclusion was no, thank you Lord. The doctor was certain that what we saw in Gabriel’s crib was not blood, but that he had vomited something up in the night. I was unsure about his conclusion but it was ultimately confirmed about an hour later when we were back home and the vomiting episodes began (or, continued, I suppose).

It was just a bug. Just a nasty little stomach virus that’s “going around,” as they say, keeping folks down for a few days then leaving, letting us all get on with our lives and Clorox our bathrooms. It’s just that there was the chance that it may not have been, that it could have been so much more. It’s just that these moments, these moments where we don’t know, where that could be a normal childhood temporary illness or it could be a sign of things occurring, things to come, that will impact us forever, it’s just that these moments put our emotions through the wringer, call for so much resolve, require so much decompression.

We really are okay. We are so thankful that it was just a little bug, already a memory. We are so grateful for doctors who were understanding, who did not make me feel paranoid, who listened to my concerns and addressed them. But we, or at least I, am still in a daily battle with thoughts to take captive and what it is to be vigilant enough but not paralyzed by fear and how to receive the “normal” ruckus of life with children yet maintain the possibility that what we are facing in any given moment may be abnormal.

I feel this every time Owen complains of leg pain. “My leg hurts, again!” he will tell me. Growing pains, I’m sure, I think. Or is it? Or are the mutations having their way? Is his body trying to tell us something beyond the fact that he is three-and-a-half, sprouting up like a weed, and runs every chance he gets? So far, it seems that’s the full story. But every day, every time he wakes up in the night with calves aching, I wonder, I fight the wonder, I ask the Lord to hold it for me, because I do not know what to do with it on my own.

We all face uncertainty in so many areas of life. It’s an odd place our family is in, this awareness of how many unknowns we have. Sometimes I would prefer the ignorance. But there is a little part of me, brighter some days, dimmer others, which knows that all of this uncertainty, all of this “what is it?!” of which we are so painfully aware, draws us nearer to the One Who Knows all things, holds all things, the One Who, in Him, all things hold together. I don’t like how much faith all of this requires, most days. I really don’t. But I find that He is here, that the faith springs forth from Him, that even my ability to believe is not contained within my limited strength. So I will keep handing Him the wonder, keep offering up the worry. And He will keep meeting me here.

Author: Abby Perry

Abby has written for The Gospel Coalition, Christ and Pop Culture, Upwrite Magazine, and The Influence Network. She is the communications coordinator for a nonprofit organization and co-facilitates two community efforts—one promoting bridge-building racial reconciliation conversations and one supporting area foster and adoptive families. Abby graduated from Texas A&M University and currently attends Dallas Theological Seminary. She and her family live in College Station, Texas.

1 thought on “when there is wonder and worry.”

  1. Thank you for putting into words what I have been wrestling with! Fighting fear when M’s body does something abnormal, yet knowing precaution is the way to go because her body can truly shut down. I am right there with you, friend.

Comments are closed.