Sitting, waiting, hoping, praying– all in this same hospital room for 8 long days now. As soon as we walked in this morning, Audrey lost it. She went completely hysterical, flailing on the floor screaming for me to hold her the whole 20 minutes I nursed Annie. She asked, “Mommy, rock. Mommy, hold you. Need Audrey’s milk. Need Audrey’s blanket.” And finally she blubbered, “I want go home,” in a surrendered sob.
Audrey is doing exactly what I want to do: desperately groping for any form of comfort. (How many Dr. Peppers can I drink in a day? The answer is ZERO because it’s nowhere to be found in Philadelphia!) And I keep blubbering to God, “I want to go home! Our family can’t handle this much longer.” All the while Annie stays in her room on her IV drip wondering why she’s here because the rest of her body hasn’t yet noticed that her heart is sick.
The hardest part is knowing that I’m praying to the God who is able. “God, since you’re able, what the heck are you waiting on?! Our family is hardly hanging on!” Yet at the same time, I trust in his character, so I trust him. And I know that his ways are perfect.
I talked to two of our Little Rock cardiologists yesterday, both godly, caring men who have made themselves so available to our family. They assured me that we aren’t just waiting around for nothing. It’s still possible that Annie can get better and move on to the next surgery. And then they reminded me that the Lord numbers our days.
God knew that these were a 2-year-old Audrey’s days and these were a 2-month-old Annie’s days. While they may not be the days I want with my girls, these are the days I have. They encouraged me that instead of wishing away these days for better ones, I should enjoy them. Because these may be the days I get. Annie isn’t guaranteed tomorrow and neither am I (James 4:14).