Well it's 4am and I'm wondering where my faith is. No, I'm not Darin Ford, so this isn't the normal hour I start my quiet times. No, I'm awake because while I was attending a neighborhood block party yesterday, my son was hit in the head by a girl wielding a small wooden bat, playing a game that looked like baseball, except my son's head was the target. I didn't see the incident, just heard it from a few feet away. It didn't sound good. After about five minutes of crying, "my head, my head." My son resumed his normal activities which included, riding his bike home, eating some Kiwi fruit, brushing his teeth, then heading off to bed.
About two hours ago I woke up in a sweat. I had a rush of adrenaline, "Was my son okay? Did he have a concussion? Was his skull fractured? Is his brain bleeding?" I got on the Internet and searched, child, head small wooden bat, and was horrified. I woke up my wife, "I've got to take him to the hospital, his brain could be bleeding." Danni, sensing the urgency in my voice, sat up and said, "I trust you. Do whatever you think is best"
Before I rushed him to Children's hospital, I tried to think of some way to test my son's injury based on what I had read on the internet. I woke him up. "Justus, wake up, it's your father." Oh no, he was lathargic. Was he overly lethargic? I couldn't tell. But he was definitely lethargic. Were his pupils dialated? It was 3:30 in the morning, he could barely open his eyes. I walked downstairs and came up with a popsicle. If he could stay awake and eat the popsicle, I would wait til morning and re-evaluate his condition.
Justus was confused, but delighted to see that for some strange reason, he was being rewarded with a treat a 3:30 am. His eyes widened. As he wittled away at the orange icy, I began to pepper him with questions, "Does your head hurt?" "No." What's your favorite game?" "NASCAR" "What's your name?" "Justus." "Can you spell it backwards?" "huh?"
When the popsicle was finished, I looked at my wife, "What do you think honey?"
"I think he's okay."
I nestled my head in my son's chest, as he clutched me with both arms. I began to cry. He smiled, "Don't worry daddy, I'm okay." As he held me in his arms, comforting me for the first time I could remember, I thought of something; here I am in tears at the thought of losing my son. Do I think Abraham was any different as he offered Issac? Was he weeping? When his hand raised in the air, were there tears falling to the ground? The Bible doesn't go into detail, but I'm pretty sure Abraham was a mess. Maybe that makes it even more of a test of faith. The challenges of faith in the Bible will always test us to the limits of our endurance and love for God.
It's almost 5 am, and I am going to try to get some rest and surrender my son to God once again. Where's my faith?
About two hours ago I woke up in a sweat. I had a rush of adrenaline, "Was my son okay? Did he have a concussion? Was his skull fractured? Is his brain bleeding?" I got on the Internet and searched, child, head small wooden bat, and was horrified. I woke up my wife, "I've got to take him to the hospital, his brain could be bleeding." Danni, sensing the urgency in my voice, sat up and said, "I trust you. Do whatever you think is best"
Before I rushed him to Children's hospital, I tried to think of some way to test my son's injury based on what I had read on the internet. I woke him up. "Justus, wake up, it's your father." Oh no, he was lathargic. Was he overly lethargic? I couldn't tell. But he was definitely lethargic. Were his pupils dialated? It was 3:30 in the morning, he could barely open his eyes. I walked downstairs and came up with a popsicle. If he could stay awake and eat the popsicle, I would wait til morning and re-evaluate his condition.
Justus was confused, but delighted to see that for some strange reason, he was being rewarded with a treat a 3:30 am. His eyes widened. As he wittled away at the orange icy, I began to pepper him with questions, "Does your head hurt?" "No." What's your favorite game?" "NASCAR" "What's your name?" "Justus." "Can you spell it backwards?" "huh?"
When the popsicle was finished, I looked at my wife, "What do you think honey?"
"I think he's okay."
I nestled my head in my son's chest, as he clutched me with both arms. I began to cry. He smiled, "Don't worry daddy, I'm okay." As he held me in his arms, comforting me for the first time I could remember, I thought of something; here I am in tears at the thought of losing my son. Do I think Abraham was any different as he offered Issac? Was he weeping? When his hand raised in the air, were there tears falling to the ground? The Bible doesn't go into detail, but I'm pretty sure Abraham was a mess. Maybe that makes it even more of a test of faith. The challenges of faith in the Bible will always test us to the limits of our endurance and love for God.
It's almost 5 am, and I am going to try to get some rest and surrender my son to God once again. Where's my faith?
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