And there is weariness in my heart, too. This is such an emotionally demanding process. Raine is my super-intense, super-persistent second-born. He requires every ounce of energy, creativity, and patience that I have to give. And more, actually. A broken arm means that many of the outlets he uses to expend his energy are now unavailable. I am sometimes hard-pressed to find enough activities to take their place.
That is the bad news. But I am finding much to be thankful for, too. Terrific doctors, to start. Raine seems to come up with some "interesting" breaks, and the orthopedic specialists at the hospital have been doing a great job at making him as good as new. I am thankful for good health care for my son.
I'm also thankful for the many small mercies that accompanied this second arm-break. My husband was in town, so he was able to meet me at the hospital right away. There was no one else in the waiting room (!!). I knew where to go and how to get there this time. I was able to stay with Raine throughout the whole procedure, instead of having to take my other kids out of the room. Most of all, they put Raine under when it came time to set the bones.
You see, the first time he broke his arm, he was conscious for the whole bone-setting procedure. They gave him morphine as a painkiller, but he was still in so much agony that he screamed and thrashed and begged them to "stop bending it". And it took two tries to get the bone set properly. It was so traumatic for both of us, I could hardly sleep that night.
With this second break, when it came time to head to the procedure room, Raine looked at me with naked fear in his eyes and said, "I don't want to go in there. This is the terrible part, Mommy."
I stroked his hair and told him that this time they were going to give him some medicine that would make him sleep, so that he wouldn't feel them fixing his arm.
Remembering a previous conversation about what happens to cats in animal shelters, Raine looked at me with wide blue eyes and asked with a tremble in his voice, "Mom, if they give me sleep medicine, will I ever wake up again?"
My heart ached to see his fear and vulnerability. I assured him that this was different, that he would wake up when it was finished to find me still beside him, stroking his hair.
And that was how it happened. He slept through the most traumatic and painful part of the whole process, and woke later to find me at his bedside, stroking his hair.
It made me wonder what it might be like someday to fall asleep, for the last and final time. To wake and find myself in the arms of Jesus. All of the pain and trauma of life on earth behind me. Only His eyes holding me in their gaze. I think it will be worth every day I have ever lived, every heartache I have ever known. It is the most beautiful hope I know.
Most days are not traumatic, but there are many weary ones. Many more than I would wish. Many more than I imagined there would be when I was young and idealistic. How I long for Home, for the place where my heart was created to be. For the place where I will be made whole.
He gathers the lambs in his arms
and carries them close to his heart.
Isaiah 40:11
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