My story . . . Part 5 of several

Have you ever had someone take a pillowcase, fill it with a few bricks, swing it around, and smack you in the head with it? I haven’t. But when God began to lay these things on my heart, I felt as though I had.

I was besieged with all sorts of reminders of what my attitude had been like over the last few years. I had been extremely selfish. I wanted a baby. I wanted one now. And I wasn’t going to be happy about anything until I got what I wanted. What’s more, I realized how arrogant it was of me to think that the initial doctors were somehow wrong, and that I needed only to find a better, smarter doctor to tell me the “truth” about Matthew’s condition. I didn’t even think to pray about the situation—this after I had chuckled at my older son Chad for praying that Matthew would be born on his birthday.

So I made a decision. Knowing full well that I would mess up (daily), that I would never be able to stop all the sin in my life, and that I could only keep my word imperfectly, I told God that I would believe what He told me. Not just “believe,” but BELIEVE. I would do my best to live out Hebrews 11:1 in this situation. I would have FAITH. I wasn’t even totally sure what God meant by “Your son will be okay.” Maybe that he would be fully healed. Maybe that the brain damage would not be too bad. Maybe that it would be significant, but we would be able to handle it and that the whole ordeal would serve some greater purpose. Regardless, I decided to live my life with the certainty that what God told me was true.

As I mentioned previously, one of the early worries was that Matthew’s head was not growing. A lack of growth could indicate that his brain was not growing properly, which would result in a permanent state of being physically and mentally handicapped. As you have no doubt noticed, as I relate these events, some memories are still fairly clear in my mind, while others are quite fuzzy. But in this instance, I have a very vivid recollection of one of the first times that we measured Matthew’s head after we brought him home from the hospital. I can remember that as I watched Barbara lean over with the measuring tape, I was really, really nervous. But the circumference of his head had grown one centimeter! I prayed, “Thank you, Lord, that Matthew’s head grew one centimeter, and please let my faith in you be the evidence of what I can’t see.”

Another key milestone was an MRI that was scheduled at the three-month mark to check for any brain damage. I began to pray, and circled August 15th on my desk calendar at work. Then I circled it again. I think I circled it so much that I almost bore a hole in my desk. Much to my amazement and joy, the MRI came back showing no damage. Again, “Thank you, God. Help me to live out Hebrews 11:1.”

Over the first year of Matthew’s life, he had frequent check-ups to test for growth, motor skills, and overall development. But visit after visit, the news was always good. Finally, when Matthew was about nine months old, the neurologist told us that he did not need to see Matthew anymore. Matthew was by all accounts a normal baby with no signs of any brain damage.

The icing on the cake for me, though, was the day in July, 2002, when Matthew took his first steps. I can remember being overwhelmed with a rush of emotions. The previous year, I wasn’t sure if Matthew would ever be able to stand up, let alone walk. Yet here he was. I believe that I had seen a miracle happen before my eyes. This was one of those times when I went upstairs, closed the bedroom door behind me, fell to my knees, and burst out in tears. “Thank you, Lord, for healing my son. And thank you for beginning to teach me what it means to walk in faith.”