Sophia had her scans this morning. We went in early and unlike the last time, we were prepared to do them without sedation. Last time, she did it without being sedated, but it was an off-the-cuff decision. It went fine, but we were ready, Freddy, this time.
Oh, boy were we ready.
I didn't write about the last time in detail, but the MRI machines at Texas Children's are called "donuts" because that's exactly what they look like. It's a children's hospital so they are all decorated up with various characters. You can even watch a movie, if you aren't getting a scan of your eye orbits, but Sophia's eyes need looking after so she just lays there, trying to be as still as humanly possible.
I think I did report, on her Facebook page, that the noises are very loud and a little scary. I wasn't really aware of how loud until they gave me earplugs and a noise-canceling headset. They did even more for Sophia since she would be in the middle of it all.
In the last round, I had the sensation I was on holy ground. If I hadn't been hanging onto Sophia for dear life, I would have taken my shoes off. We still struggled though, because we just didn't know what to expect of the whole process. It all turned out well and they got the images they needed. This time, we went in with a plan.
We knew what needed to get done spiritually and in the natural and made adjustments for all. There was a whole lot of binding and loosing that went on this week, in prayer, and as a result, neither of us were at all worried. On Tuesday, we got a "chill pill" from our natural allergist, a little vial that when held in your right hand, helps you to relax. Sophia got to stay up late last night, to ensure she would be tired this morning (she was!) She also got breakfast beforehand, which is a nice break from the sedation practices. Last time she was starving, but this time, her tummy was nice and full of McDonald's hotcakes.
I spoke with 2 dear friends on our way to the hospital (one in person, one via voicemail) and was really quite confident it would all go well. I had no reason to doubt how we were handling everything. (When it comes to post-treatment scans, peace and confidence are quite rare. I can take zero credit for my peace. It all surpasses my understanding. It was all from the Lord.)
The only snafu of the process was I forgot they had to put an I.V. for the contrast medicine. I seem to forget that every time and promised Sophia no pokes. But even with the unexpected, I think it finally sunk in that she is big and strong enough to handle pokes. I think she finally understands it is much worse if she freaks out.
We went into the room, got her all bundled into the machine, and the scan began. MRI scans last anywhere from 30-60 minutes, so it is a tall order for anyone to remain still the whole time, much less a 7 year old. I did take my shoes off this time. I could feel the Lord was getting down to business, as we'd asked.
The second she got into the donut hole, she fell asleep!
She was out like a light - like she'd been sedated. Reminded me of the "deep sleep" the Lord used on Adam and Abraham. I was watching and praying and she never moved a muscle, just her chest as she inhaled and exhaled. TOTAL MIRACLE!
As I was praying, I felt the overwhelming presence of the Holy Spirit. He impressed upon me how much He loved Sophia. He told me I didn't have to pray anymore, in the Spirit or otherwise because the machine would do the praying for me.
The machines and all their various vibrations would say my prayers for me. Kind of a techno-version of Romans 8:26, And the Holy Spirit helps us in our weakness. For example, we don't know what God wants us to pray for. But the Holy Spirit prays for us with groanings that cannot be expressed in words.
So, I stopped praying and just rested. I sat with my forehead on the table, keeping an eye on Sophia - still just breathing. Another verse came to me, from Psalm 130:6,
I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I hope; my soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen for the morning, more than watchmen for the morning.
That's when I got the other impression. I'd kept my hand on her leg, to reassure her (and me) but it wasn't needed anymore. I had to break the connection because my job, as her caregiver, is complete. My job of carrying her is through; this is no longer 'OUR' journey. This is a fork in the road. This is now Sophia's journey.
I can go back to just being her Mommy.
It was a final surrender. I am now only a watchman, waiting for the morning. It's time for me to leave the stage and take my place in the audience. My part in this drama of her cancer story is finished.
There will come a day, sooner than I think, when she will take up her true identity in Christ. I won't have to carry it for her, she will know who she is. No more doubt, no more uncertainity. She will know in the core of her being that nothing, absolutely nothing will stand in the way of God's love for her and His plans for her life.
I still have a role to play in her life, sure. It's just my role has changed. Or maybe it's going back to to what it always should have been. She doesn't need a caregiver because she is no longer a patient. The prisoner to cancer doesn't need a warden to make sure all the details happen on the exact schedule. It's all done.
I don't know how that will play out in the natural. I don't know what she is going to be when she grows up. I don't know much, truly. Nor do I have any more faith or strength or hope then anyone else. I don't walk in any extra power or anointing. I just walk with Christ.
The significance of all of this experience isn't me. It isn't about my faith or what I can do (have done, will do.)
The significance is that Jesus is faithful.
He accomplishes the things He promises. He promises to heal, redeem and make whole. He is doing that and I'm just going to keep trusting Him to do what He's said He will. That's all you have to do too. It's just like I wrote yesterday:
What won't the God, who sent His Only Son, do for us?
After all of this, I dozed off for a bit. There we were: both asleep with the machinery banging around us. Incredible. Knowing, not understanding, but knowing. That is what faith is, friends.
Results of the scans on Tuesday.
Praise the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. According to His great mercy, He has given us a new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead and into an inheritance that is imperishable, uncorrupted and unfading, kept in heaven for you. You are being protected by God's power through faith for a salvation that is ready to be revealed in the last time. You rejoice in this, though now for a short time you have had to struggle in various trials so that the genuineness of your faith - more valuable than gold, which perishes through refined by fire - may result in praise, glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ. You love Him, though you have not seen Him. And though not seeing Him now, you believe in Him and rejoice with inexpressible and glorious joy because you are receiving the goal of your faith, the salvation of your souls. (1 Peter 1:3-9)
Oh, boy were we ready.
I didn't write about the last time in detail, but the MRI machines at Texas Children's are called "donuts" because that's exactly what they look like. It's a children's hospital so they are all decorated up with various characters. You can even watch a movie, if you aren't getting a scan of your eye orbits, but Sophia's eyes need looking after so she just lays there, trying to be as still as humanly possible.
I think I did report, on her Facebook page, that the noises are very loud and a little scary. I wasn't really aware of how loud until they gave me earplugs and a noise-canceling headset. They did even more for Sophia since she would be in the middle of it all.
In the last round, I had the sensation I was on holy ground. If I hadn't been hanging onto Sophia for dear life, I would have taken my shoes off. We still struggled though, because we just didn't know what to expect of the whole process. It all turned out well and they got the images they needed. This time, we went in with a plan.
We knew what needed to get done spiritually and in the natural and made adjustments for all. There was a whole lot of binding and loosing that went on this week, in prayer, and as a result, neither of us were at all worried. On Tuesday, we got a "chill pill" from our natural allergist, a little vial that when held in your right hand, helps you to relax. Sophia got to stay up late last night, to ensure she would be tired this morning (she was!) She also got breakfast beforehand, which is a nice break from the sedation practices. Last time she was starving, but this time, her tummy was nice and full of McDonald's hotcakes.
I spoke with 2 dear friends on our way to the hospital (one in person, one via voicemail) and was really quite confident it would all go well. I had no reason to doubt how we were handling everything. (When it comes to post-treatment scans, peace and confidence are quite rare. I can take zero credit for my peace. It all surpasses my understanding. It was all from the Lord.)
The only snafu of the process was I forgot they had to put an I.V. for the contrast medicine. I seem to forget that every time and promised Sophia no pokes. But even with the unexpected, I think it finally sunk in that she is big and strong enough to handle pokes. I think she finally understands it is much worse if she freaks out.
We went into the room, got her all bundled into the machine, and the scan began. MRI scans last anywhere from 30-60 minutes, so it is a tall order for anyone to remain still the whole time, much less a 7 year old. I did take my shoes off this time. I could feel the Lord was getting down to business, as we'd asked.
The second she got into the donut hole, she fell asleep!
She was out like a light - like she'd been sedated. Reminded me of the "deep sleep" the Lord used on Adam and Abraham. I was watching and praying and she never moved a muscle, just her chest as she inhaled and exhaled. TOTAL MIRACLE!
As I was praying, I felt the overwhelming presence of the Holy Spirit. He impressed upon me how much He loved Sophia. He told me I didn't have to pray anymore, in the Spirit or otherwise because the machine would do the praying for me.
The machines and all their various vibrations would say my prayers for me. Kind of a techno-version of Romans 8:26, And the Holy Spirit helps us in our weakness. For example, we don't know what God wants us to pray for. But the Holy Spirit prays for us with groanings that cannot be expressed in words.
So, I stopped praying and just rested. I sat with my forehead on the table, keeping an eye on Sophia - still just breathing. Another verse came to me, from Psalm 130:6,
I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I hope; my soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen for the morning, more than watchmen for the morning.
That's when I got the other impression. I'd kept my hand on her leg, to reassure her (and me) but it wasn't needed anymore. I had to break the connection because my job, as her caregiver, is complete. My job of carrying her is through; this is no longer 'OUR' journey. This is a fork in the road. This is now Sophia's journey.
I can go back to just being her Mommy.
It was a final surrender. I am now only a watchman, waiting for the morning. It's time for me to leave the stage and take my place in the audience. My part in this drama of her cancer story is finished.
There will come a day, sooner than I think, when she will take up her true identity in Christ. I won't have to carry it for her, she will know who she is. No more doubt, no more uncertainity. She will know in the core of her being that nothing, absolutely nothing will stand in the way of God's love for her and His plans for her life.
I still have a role to play in her life, sure. It's just my role has changed. Or maybe it's going back to to what it always should have been. She doesn't need a caregiver because she is no longer a patient. The prisoner to cancer doesn't need a warden to make sure all the details happen on the exact schedule. It's all done.
I don't know how that will play out in the natural. I don't know what she is going to be when she grows up. I don't know much, truly. Nor do I have any more faith or strength or hope then anyone else. I don't walk in any extra power or anointing. I just walk with Christ.
The significance of all of this experience isn't me. It isn't about my faith or what I can do (have done, will do.)
The significance is that Jesus is faithful.
He accomplishes the things He promises. He promises to heal, redeem and make whole. He is doing that and I'm just going to keep trusting Him to do what He's said He will. That's all you have to do too. It's just like I wrote yesterday:
What won't the God, who sent His Only Son, do for us?
After all of this, I dozed off for a bit. There we were: both asleep with the machinery banging around us. Incredible. Knowing, not understanding, but knowing. That is what faith is, friends.
Results of the scans on Tuesday.
Praise the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. According to His great mercy, He has given us a new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead and into an inheritance that is imperishable, uncorrupted and unfading, kept in heaven for you. You are being protected by God's power through faith for a salvation that is ready to be revealed in the last time. You rejoice in this, though now for a short time you have had to struggle in various trials so that the genuineness of your faith - more valuable than gold, which perishes through refined by fire - may result in praise, glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ. You love Him, though you have not seen Him. And though not seeing Him now, you believe in Him and rejoice with inexpressible and glorious joy because you are receiving the goal of your faith, the salvation of your souls. (1 Peter 1:3-9)
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