I've seen my little 3 month old get poked by at least 50 needles today (not hyperbole). In her heels In her hands. In her wrists. In her head. In her groin. Repeatedly...Poked. Prodded.
I've heard Chaia scream in pain with decibel levels and octave ranges I've never heard from her before.
I've seen her get life flighted from Orrville to Akron Childrens Hospital.
(Little Bitter that she has that knocked off her bucket list before me...the helicopter...not the life flight)
I'm staring at her in the PICU right now with more cords, IVs, drugs, monitors and blood than one kid should have in a life time.
I saw one hospital staff spend over an hour trying to get a line fed through her artery and then give up.
There's been talks of pneumonia, pulmonary edema, heart defects, enlarged hearts.
And in all these circumstances a still small voice speaks to the depths of my heart: DO YOU TRUST ME?
Do I trust that God can heal her if He wants to bring His name glory?
Do I trust that God can let her go if He wants to bring His name glory?
Do I trust that God has what is best for Shaina and I, even in the midst of one of the hardest days we've been through as a family?
We had a time of prayer with some friends and family who came this evening and Shaina's sister shared from Psalm 91...I'm stuck on the first two verses. "You who live in the shelter of the Most High, who abide in the shadow of the Almighty will say to the Lord, 'My refuge and my fortress; my God, in whom I trust."
Shelter and refuge have a direct correlation to abiding and trusting.
The question haunts me tonight as we try to rest.
And it haunts you too, in every circumstance and situation:
Do you trust me?