Maybe it's hard to decipher the words, but those little words are a whole symphony of music to my ears. Lochlan stood in the shower after vomiting for the 8th time in 8 hours, dark circles underneath his eyes, his little ribs protruding from his incredibly thin frame; he was smiling and showing me all his body parts. Every time he got to bo-ee (body), his whole face broke into the biggest grin and was followed with a proud giggle.
We're afraid the protozoa may be repopulating in his gut again. He has had almost 12 days of periodic vomiting, and there does appear to be something cyclical about it, like last time. We will be doing follow up tests as soon as his doctor orders them. His mental/developmental progress since starting to improve his gut health has been exponential. I'm so afraid of him being forced to face yet another set back. He shouldn't have to; it's not right! It has been hard for me to fight the discouragement these past several days. I have to fight it... it's my responsibility to do so, for Lochlan's sake. Sometimes, my very human weakness seems substantially more prevalent than the Divine strength and courage I pray for almost constantly.
Parenting Lochlan has been terrifying for me on so many levels. It's not dissimilar to hiking along the edge of a cliff blindfolded, knowing that you're amidst the breathtaking beauty that the surrounding mountains promise. The smell of wildflowers, the sound of birds fills the air, but you can only sense them because you are blinded by the fold upon your eyes. If you could just take it off... but, it's not humanly possible to do so. It is required attire for this season of your life (perhaps for the remainder of this particular journey?), so you must adapt. You must rely on your senses, on others who walk alongside you (also blindfolded), on the One you (blindly?) trust to guide you; you must find courage and strength from the steps that have come before. You fear mostly... yourself.
Each opportunity that I am able to steal away into the wilderness in desperate search of emotional/mental clarity, Declan is my ever-faithful companion. He mostly doesn't talk; he is just present. He seems to sense that my mind is fragmented with the factors I cannot alter, with the physical barrage of vomit, with the chaos of emotions. He offers his presence and is a comfort and a reminder that I am never alone, even in the darkness of my own blinded way forward. Kelton, too, has trotted along on a couple of these outings; his contribution often adds the happy component of a fantastical imaginary world, usually filled with exotic creatures, courageous warriors, personal valor (obviously), and miraculous victories against various obstacles.
I find restoration in these moments/places. I cannot look at the Creation before me and not be overwhelmed and reminded that life is so much more than I can comprehend. My perspective from inside the walls of my house is minute and limited. When I stand on the hillside, below the crooked/strong tree, I see mountains that would take me days, months, years to comprehend/know and I could even then never know them to their fullest detail or measure. The painter paints and I stand in awe and am humbled. I will not stand idly by in the fear of what could lie ahead. I will face tomorrow with hope and courage that does not belong to me, but that will be given to me. I will follow the road that lies before me.