The blessings of a health scare don’t reveal themselves until after the crisis is over. That sigh of relief comes after the biopsy comes back benign, the lab results prove negative, and the x-rays show all is well.
Good health is so easy to ignore; bad health, impossible.
My son’s recent sickness caused an asthma flare-up, which in turn caused my normal life to come to a stand-still. It no longer mattered whether his team advanced to the finals of the basketball bracket. I didn’t care that “Braveheart” was overdue and accruing library fees daily, that we were out of milk, or that the laundry room floor was barely visible.
I only cared whether my boy could take a deep breath. On the worst nights, I snuck into his room to sleep on an air mattress next to him.
Do you remember those newborn days, when your eyes flew open at every strange gurgle or gasp? Do you remember watching your baby in the dark, his little chest rising and falling rhythmically, marveling that you played a part in his creation, and praying that you could take care of him properly?
Last week, I returned to those newborn days. It made me stop, amidst the craziness of life, and fully realize my blessings.
When my children are healthy, I rarely sneak into their rooms to thank God for them. I rarely pray for those sleeping in a children’s hospital.
Instead, I get wrapped up in why the soap in my sons’ shower never needs to be replenished, why he would rather put clean clothes in the hamper than just put them into drawers, and why cutting his nails is such a massive inconvenience. Why does he continue to eat the last Eggo and then return the empty box to the freezer?
As soon as his symptoms appeared, my exasperation disappeared. I only saw the boy who regularly presents me with clay statues,
the boy who saves special rocks, and the boy who occasionally brings his sister breakfast (a bagel) in bed.
He’s improved and I’m relieved, but I don’t want to let go of this kind of gratitude.
Have you ever been blessed by a health scare?