Thankful

I was awake at midnight last night with this post running through my head, so here goes...

I can't get the memories of Childrens Hospital out of my head. Maybe because Masen has been sick lately, maybe because it is Christmas, I don't know. If I close my eyes I have very vivid images of her room on the 8th floor, last room on the southeast side, next to the playroom, tiny, one little sleeping chair. Across from us was a baby, just a few months old, who came in with a brain injury and a horrible bruise across the left side of her head and ear. A child at her babysitters had beat her with one of those wooden hammers that come with peg sets, allegedly.

Just a few doors down from us was another baby girl. I have no idea her age, but she was able to fit into an infant carseat. I know this because that is where she stayed most of the day. She had no visitors, no family to hold her or love her, so the nurses placed her in a car seat and moved her crib in front of the door so they could see her from their station. When they had a break, they'd take turns rocking her, feeding her, and just loving her. I don't know what her story was, it was apparent she was not a "normal" healthy child. She didn't cry, or fuss or interact like most infants do. She had no family to take her home.

And I can see the little girl, about 8 years old whose brother had spent most of his life in the hospital. She herself was a healthy child, but had spent so much time at Children's that every nurse, every aide and assistant knew her name. She knew what time crafts were done in the play room and when the therapy dogs came, she knew all their names and what tricks they could do.

I see the grandmother pushing her grandson in his stroller, nobody knew how long he would live. I see the teenager watching the therapy dogs with his head down, the IV pole attached to his wheelchair and a cap on his bald head. I see big strong men brought to their knees watching their babies struggle to breath.

I see the nurses. I wonder if they know their impact on these families. I know the ones that had to put up with cranky Mom, ME, were fantastic. I was not exactly charming by the time we hit OKC. They treated my daughter with love and jokes and tenderness. They are amazing and all I know for certain is that God gave them something special when He made their hearts. To do and see what they do, day in and day out, and still have the capacity to smile and have hope is beyond words and must be of God.

So, today, the eve of Christmas Eve, I pray for them, and the families there. I promised I'd never close my eyes at night without asking God to fill those halls with His mercy and comfort. And I'll keep that promise along with my gratitude that our story had a happy ending. Today if you have a healthy child who has a messy room, and talks back sometimes, just give thanks to God that your worries only include how long to ground them.